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Chapter 13. 


Frontispiece. 


THE CHILDREN OF 
THE MEADOWS 


BY 

MITTIE OWEN McDAVID 

w 

Author of “Princess Pocahontas” and 
of other stories for children 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

HERMANN HEYER 


NEW YORK 

THE COSMOPOLITAN PRESS 

1912 


Copyright, 1912, by 
The Cosmopolitan Press 


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C;aA330455 


TO 


MY YOUNG SONS 

EDMUND, Jr., and JACK McD AVID 


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ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING PAGE 


“ Three important members of the household ” . 

“You knows I hates cats” 

“ Queen reached him just as he climbed into the branches 

of a low tree” 

“ There they buried one ^of the boxes ” . 

“ Let me see your mouth, Mrs. Schmidt ’ 

“ Do not be alarmed, Madam ”... 

“Warm milk from' a spoon like a baby” 

“ Calmly gazing into each other’s eyes ” 

“ They made a pretty picture indeed ” . 

“Go; you may have your freedom’'” 

“ The Dutchman vaulted the rail fence 

“ Dar he is, Marse Ben ! ” 

“ Somebody diggin’ for box in graveyard on hill ” 

“ They were running like mad through the woods ” 
“And so you never expected to see me again?” . 

“The object of attraction” 

“ Ben sat, with both pistols, guarding him ” . . 

“ Chineabe ” 


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184 o 





The Children of the Meadows 


CHAPTER I 

^TT 7AY down in Alabama, nestling amid the 
VV soft blue mountains, lay the Elmore 
plantation. It was called “The Meadows” on 
account of the beautiful green fields sloping away 
in front across the main road. 

The house was set in a shady grove of oaks and 
maples and faced terraces planted in shrubs 
and trees of many varieties. There were lilacs and 
japonicas, cape jessamines, crepe myrtle, and 
bridal- wreath bushes; with here and there an al- 
thea or mimosa tree. Down on either side of the 
driveway gate, standing like sentinels, were two 
tall magnolias. At night as one sat on the broad 
piazza the perfumed air was at times almost over- 
powering in its sweetness. 

At the back of the house were two gardens di- 
vided by white painted palings. These were the 
vegetable and the rose gardens. Stretching out 
toward the mountains to the back and left of the 
gardens lay the negro quarters, a long lane 
9 


lo CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


fringed on either side with cabins, and bordered 
with chinaberry trees, under whose umbrella-like 
shade the little pickaninnies played all day long. 
To the right of the house were the orchard and 
the vineyard and the outhouses, and farther on 
yet the pastures, where the cows and the horses 
stood knee-deep in clover. 

A trout brook ran through the meadow, and on 
its banks, drooping toward the water, were weep- 
ing willows and evergreen trees. Here the cattle 
rested from the noonday heat. 

The Elmore family consisted of Mr. Elmore 
and Mrs. Elmore and their four orphan grand- 
children, — George, aged eighteen; Ben, aged 
eleven, and the twins, aged eight, who bore high- 
sounding names. They were Albert Barnwell 
Elmore and Elizabeth Winship Elmore, com- 
monly called Barney and Bessie, respectively, for 
short; and a more mischievous set of twins it 
would have been hard to find anywhere. 

The time about which I write was during the 
Civil War. Mrs. Elmore’s husband and her 
grandson George were in the army. Her hus- 
band was now a colonel, and George was a mem- 
ber of Forrest’s Cavalry. 

For many weeks the children had gone down. 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS ii 


and, from the pinnacle of the big gate posts 
or the horse block, watched the armies pass. How 
in the world could we fail to win, they thought, 
with all those soldiers passing, passing every day^ 
They did not know there were so many soldiers 
anywhere. 

I was about to forget three important members 
of the Elmore household. They were the three 
dogs belonging to the children. Queen, the black 
shaggy Newfoundland, was Ben’s; Bragg, the 
beautiful tan and white collie, was Barney’s own 
property, and Bunny, a little curly black and 
white French terrier, was Bessie’s pet. 

Queen was often hitched to a small cart and 
driven by the children, and she seemed to enjoy 
it as much as they did. Bragg rounded up the 
cows and sheep in the afternoon and brought 
them home. Little Bunny allowed no intruder 
to enter the premises without protest from her. 
Dressed in doll’s clothes, with a hat on her head, 
she would sit in a little chair at Bessie’s doll table, 
with paws on either side of her plate, and drink 
from a glass. Each dog was so intelligent in its 
own way as to be almost human, and no sum, 
however great, could have bought them from their 
owners. 


12 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


About two miles back of the plantation lived 
the Elmores’ nearest neighbor, a Cherokee Indian 
chief, named Chineabee. This old Indian had for 
some reason remained behind in the days when 
the last of his red brothers left the state, and had 
entered several acres of land. It was a pretty level 
tract of meadow land, and the old man made quite 
a sum of money each year raising horses for the 
autumn sales. He was a shrewd old Indian, who 
had acquired some learning and many of the 
white man’s arts. The Elmore children ran in 
and out of his cabin with impunity, for he was 
glad to have them come. 

Just by his door stood a large chestnut tree, 
and often on an autumn afternoon they sat on 
his low door-step opening the golden burrs and 
filling their pockets with the brown nuts, while 
Chineabee smoked his pipe in the doorway and 
told them stories of his Indian boyhood in Ala- 
bama eighty years before, — days in which the In- 
dian rode fearlessly over those same fields and 
hunted among those same blue mountains. 

One day Bessie showed him a chestnut burr con- 
taining two chestnuts on one side exactly alike and 
told him they were philopenas. This seemed to 
amuse the old Indian, who, taking his pipe from 



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CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 15 

his mouth, said: “You and Barney philopenas, 
too.” And ever afterward he called them the 
“philopena children.” 

The other neighbors were widely scattered. 
The nearest of these was the family of Jonas 
Schmidt, a Dutchman, who lived off the main 
road just four miles below. 

Schmidt was quite a character in the com- 
munity. Notoriously lazy, he refused to go to 
war. He wouldn’t fight anything, but would 
run away from any kind of fight. He seldom 
worked more than one day in the week, although 
Jack of all trades, — carpenter, mechanic, and 
blacksmith, and could turn many a dollar his 
way when he pleased. But he seldom pleased. 
His family was composed of himself, his wife 
Polly, and his hound dog. 

Polly’s temper and sharp tongue were the dread 
of the county. While she was fond of Jonas and 
really supported him by her thrift and hard work, 
there were times when, like Rip Van Winkle, he 
could bear her scoldings no longer. Then, with 
his dog, he would leave home and wander to the 
forest or village, miles away, till her temper 
cooled. He was an excellent neighbor, though, a 


i6 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


good nurse for the sick, — ^helping others in many 
ways by his sunny nature, — and a general favor- 
ite. 

Other neighbors were the families of Dr. Mur- 
ray, the only good physician in a radius of twenty 
miles, and of old Deacon Jones, who both lived 
ten miles away, in opposite directions. The latter 
lived all alone in a dilapidated cabin with his 
little granddaughter Jennie. They were very, 
very poor. The old man, a lazy hypocrite, who 
never paid his debts, had, however, one redeeming 
trait, — his love for, and tender care of, his little 
granddaughter, the child of his dead daughter. 
He went about the plantations, sometimes help- 
ing with some easy work for pay, and occasionally 
accepting alms. 

There had come so many rumors of raiders 
headed South, that many women, who were living 
alone on the plantations since their husbands, 
fathers, or brothers left for war, began to band 
together in one household, or else sought protec- 
tion in the homes of their kindred. 

Recently three cousins of the Elmores had come 
to them. They were beautiful girls, in their 
teens, named Alabama, Fannie, and Lucy. They 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 17 

were the life of the house, helping Mrs. Elmore 
in caring for the children and in many other ways, 
but it must be said, petting and spoiling the chil- 
dren constantly. 


CHAPTER II 


I T was a lovely spring morning. The air was 
redolent with a hundred perfumes, for in the 
old garden at The Meadows the musk roses and 
hyacinths vied with buttercups, violets, and lilies 
in casting their sweetness upon the soft breezes. 
The mocking-birds were caroling as if they would 
burst their little throats and the impudent blue 
jays, busy with the importance of building nests, 
were darting in and out among the low syringa 
bushes. 

Since daylight the twins had been getting into 
trouble. Barney had begun by jumping over a 
fence onto the scythe and nearly cutting his great 
toe off. Now they had raised a mighty disturb- 
ance in the kitchen, and Aunt Nora, in a loud 
and angry tone, was saying: “Lawdy, dese chillun 
done pestered de life outen me dis day. I knowed 
you two twinses wuz de guilty party whut fas- 
tened dat Tom cat up in dis kitchen closet to 
jump out at me when I opened de do’ an’ skeer 
me plum stiff an’ cold.” But her words fell 
upon deaf ears and she waved her spoon at the 



“You knows I hates cats” 



CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 21 


empty air, for the miscreants had flown and were 
now halfway down the lane to the spring. How- 
ever, she went on with her tirade: “You knows 
I hates cats like pizen anyhow, steppen’ ’bout on 
dey sof’ feet. Dey des’ lak some folks I knows 
— alius handen’ yer a sof’ paw an’ er meaowin’ 
ter yer so easy lak, an’ de fust thing yer knows 
dey done spit in yer eye an’ scratched yer in de 
back. Ain’t no consider’ble diff’unce ’twixt some 
beastes an’ some pussons, I sez. Ain’t dat so, 
Brudder Jake^” 

“Da’s so, da’s so,” answered the old man, as 
he poured sorghum in his gravy and mixed it thor- 
oughly with a slice of corn pone. “I’se seed some 
mens whut needed jes’ bristles an’ er tail ter make 
’um hogs.” 

Soon the old cook had forgot her anger and was 
singing her favorite song, “Nora, Nora, opan de 
winder, let de dove come in.” Mrs. Elmore had 
once gently remonstrated with her, telling her that 
the correct way was “Noah” and not “Nora,” but 
she stoutly held to her own conviction that she 
was right, that Nora was a chosen name of the 
Lord’s, and that some “pore white pusson” had 
corrupted the name by calling it “Noah.” In 
vain Mrs. Elmore tried to convince her that it 


22 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


was written “Noah” in the Bible and that the 
Bible was right, but she was still a woman con- 
vinced against her will and therefore unconvinced, 
and continued to sing it her own way. 

In a little while she broke forth again: “Fer 
de Lawd’s sake, Brudder Jake, I ’spec’s you gwinc 
ter founder yo’se’f ! I done believe I heered Sis 
Hannah callin’ you. She ’bout ready ter go, an’ 
here you set! You eat much longer, an’ you’ll 
sho hater wash dat plate an’ cup yo’se’f.” 

Quickly Jake sprang up and kindly helped her 
to finish the dishes, after which they both went 
in haste to their cabins. Aunt Nora could not 
be blamed for her impatience on this particular 
morning, for it was the twenty-third of April, — ■ 
a great day for the darkies on this and the neigh- 
boring plantations, being their annual day for 
baptizing the “Brothers and Sisters of the Rising 
Sun,” and therefore a holiday. This ceremony 
usually took place at the Elmore mill-pond, 
where there was a sloping greensward, well 
shaded, for the spectators. Situated conveniently 
near was a small church, which Colonel Elmore 
had had built for the negroes. 

Old Uncle Israel, the regular parson, sent 
word that he was down with the rheumatism, and 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 23 

Irvine, a young preacher of doubtful religious 
fervor and sincerity, was to conduct the services. 
Many of the good colored folk regretted this, for 
very few had confidence in Irvine’s faith — too 
many underhanded deeds had been traced to his 
very door. 

By daylight the darkies began to gather. 
Many of them had walked or ridden for miles, 
carrying baskets, buckets, and bundles, for they 
were to have dinner on the grounds. As there 
were eighty to be immersed, it would be an all- 
day ceremony, and services at the church always 
preceded the baptizing. 

Ben and the twins coaxed their grandmother 
to let them go, for Flem, Barney’s own little negro 
and often his companion in mischief, was one of 
the negro boys to be baptized. Finally Mrs. El- 
more consented for them to go, and they started 
early for the pond, with Queen, Bragg, and Bunny 
at their heels. 

The negroes were coming in droves from the 
quarters, all dressed in the very best finery that 
each owned, or could borrow. Soon Mammy 
Hannah appeared on the road. Her black bom- 
bazine dress was ornamented by a purple fichu 
drawn across her breast, and a faded black bon- 


24 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

net, on which reposed a large jet butterfly that 
time had bereft of one wing, was tied underneath 
her chin with purple ribbon. In her wake, put- 
ting the finishing touches to his toilet as he went 
along, hurried Uncle Jake, every now and then 
stopping to wipe the dust from his “jeans’’ and 
his brogan shoes with a bright red handkerchief. 
In his hand he carried a Bible, a gift from “Old 
Miss” many years before. They were presently 
joined by Sarah, all in white tarleton. Her hair, 
which was habitually worn in little pigtails 
“wropped” with white string all over her head, 
was now combed out and hung in coquettish cork- 
screw curls over her shoulders, the effect having 
been gained by applying to it a liberal quantity 
of oil and then curling it around a stick. 

The three soon came up with Dilcie, waddling 
up the hill and completely out of breath, for Dilcie 
was built like a porpoise and did not hurry through 
life. Her dress was of green muslin, with 
great crimson Hibiscus blooms chasing one another 
diagonally across it, for she reveled in color. Her 
sleeves were voluminous and flowing, and her 
hat was made of varied and sundry things, be- 
ing a perfect medley of passementerie, lace, and 
varicolored flowers that had been discarded in ages 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 25 

past by many Elmore belles. Serenely bobbing 
over one eye was a huge magenta plume. When 
she caught sight of Jake she could not refrain 
from a bit of her usual “sass.” 

“Lordy, Brudder Jake, ef you wuz ter fall 
down, you’d break yo’ neck sho’, wid dat Mount 
Sinai collar!” she panted. “You rersembles a 
’possum peepin’ ovah a whitewashed fence.” 

“Huh !” snorted Mammy Hannah indignantly, 
“some folks 'alius lookin’ fer motes in dey neigh- 
bor’s eyes. Ef Mistah Sherman could git a 
squint at dat headgear er yourn, he’d be so skeered 
he’d turn his army right round an’ take ter dey 
heels right back to Yankeedom. I ain’t never 
seed sech er lid ! Hit puts me in de mind uv a 
jumpin’ cow, wid a boad ovah her face.” 

The voice of Irvine, loudly giving out the 
opening hymn, put an end to the rather heated 
conversation, and all hurried into the church. 
The services lasted an hour, while Irvine preached, 
shouted, and exhorted. At last it was time for 
the baptizing to begin. 

Down the hill from the church came the pro- 
cession of white-robed figures, led by Irvine, also 
in a white robe. Around the waist of each was 
tied a sash of orange-colored cloth, bordered with 


26 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


purple, the colors of the “Brothers and Sisters 
of the Rising Sun,” and about the head was 
twined a turban of the same bright colors. It 
was a picturesque sight as they wound down the 
sunny road, singing lustily as they marched, the 
smaller ones leading next to the parson. The 
preacher descended the steps, going down into 
the water, still singing, and waded out waist-deep, 
and all the darkies took up the refrain: 


“Swing low, sweet chariot, cornin’ fer ter carry me home, 
“Swing low, sweet chariot, cornin’ fer ter carry me home!” 


till the hills resounded with the weird music. 

Flem was the first subject for baptism, and 
when he reached the parson the water was around 
his neck. Irvine leaned forward to catch him be- 
tween the shoulders. As he did so a low growl 
came from Queen, the Newfoundland, standing 
on the bank, with ears pricked up. Although the 
preacher was robed in white and orange and 
purple. Queen recognized the enemy who had 
drowned her five puppies, and down in her heart 
she was sure that he meant to drown her friend 
and playmate, Flem. Just as Irvine caught up 
the negro boy and leaning backward was about 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 27 

to dip him head and shoulders under the water, 
a loud splash was heard near the shore and the 
parson turned in time to see the Newfoundland 
swimming swiftly toward him. Now Irvine was 
mortally afraid of dogs and of Queen in particu- 
lar. With a frightened yell, he dropped Flem 
into the water and bounded up the steps. 

He had no idea of losing any time. 

The white children on the shore screamed as 
the boy went down and the water closed over 
him, but Queen had reached him and as he came 
up, strangling and gasping, she had him by the 
robe and went plunging and swimming to the 
bank with him. Ben and the twins met them at 
the water’s edge and pulled Flem to the bank, 
where, loosening her hold on the boy, the New- 
foundland shook the water from herself and 
bounded down the road after the frightened par- 
son. 

Irvine was running like a deer across the open 
held, and Bragg and Bunny joined in the chase. 
But his progress was impeded by his wet, heavy 
robes that clung to his limbs as he ran, and 
Queen reached him just as he climbed into the 
branches of a low tree. Jumping high she caught 
him, tearing a great piece of white cloth out of 


28 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


the seat of his robe, at which he began to yell, 
calling on the Lord to help him. 

“Don’t call on de Lawd,” shouted a voice down 
the road, “call on somebody what knows yer!” 
and Uncle Israel came hobbling down through the 
dust, leaning on his hickory stick. 

The boys, supporting Flem, were already half- 
way home, and the three dogs trotted after them. 
Queen still growling and holding in her mouth the 
piece of white cloth. Irvine, his teeth chatter- 
ing, refused to come down, and Uncle Israel cried 
again, “Stay dar den, tell de buzzards come an’ 
git yer!” 

“Here,” he called to a little negro sitting on 
the grass, “run to de house an’ git my white 
gown an’ yaller buff sash. I gwine ter see dat 
dis baptizin’ goes on. Hit’s de Lawd’s will. He 
never ’tended fer no cowardly sinner to baptize 
dese ‘Brudders an’ Sisters of de Risin’ Sun’ no- 
how!” 

As the boy ran off to do his bidding, he com- 
manded, “Here, Brudder Deacon Samuel, an’ 
you, Brudder Deacon Stephen, git down in dat 
water an’ hope me.” 

The boy quickly returned, the old parson 
donned his baptismal robes, and the baptizing 



“Queen reached him just as he climbed into the branches 
of a low tree” 



CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 31 

proceeded with fervor. One after another the 
white-robed figures came and went. The three 
men swayed to their task like machines, singing 
all the time, their bodies moving rhythmically to- 
gether. Uncle Israel’s voice could be heard, now 
giving out two lines of a hymn, then singing, then 
repeating the baptismal words, now calling loudly 
above the noise of the singing, “A-3,’menl 
A-3.-inenl” Sometimes from the swaying, shout- 
ing multitude a voice would answer, “Yes, 
LawdI” 

Finally the noise subsided slightly and the 
crowd held its breath in anticipation as old Big 
Mary, the participant in many a plantation fight, 
stepped forth. She was a field woman, weighing 
two hundred pounds, with the strength of a man, 
and she carried around with her a grouch that 
made her feared by other darkies. She stepped 
clumsily down the steps, her black face shining in 
the sun, and her thick lips protruding in a pout of 
self-consciousness and determination. All three, 
the deacons and the preacher, gathered for the 
plunge, knowing full well the difficulty of the 
coming feat. Down she went like an elephant, 
down, down, straight to the bottom, carrying the 
three men with her. In a few seconds they all 


32 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

came spluttering to the surface in a different spot, 
and Big Mary, not waiting for the preacher’s 
benediction, made for the steps, shouting, “De 
Debbie’s left my sinnin’ hide !” and throwing wa- 
ter and mud like a beaver over old Israel and his 
assistants. The former, nothing daunted, how- 
ever, followed her as fast as the water would per- 
mit, calling through alternate choking and 
spitting of water, '‘A-2i-men/ A-^L-menP' 

Big Mary’s back, from neck to heels, was one 
mass of yellow mud that trickled in streams be- 
hind her, but oblivious of all else she marched 
straight ahead, slapping her hands and shouting, 
“Glory ! Glory !” The crowd parted to let her 
pass, and Nero, squatting in the forks of a tree 
near the path, seeing her for the first time and 
the ridiculous plight she presented, burst into a 
sacrilegious chuckle, his big mouth spreading over 
his ebon face in an uncontrollable grin. The ob- 
ject of his mirth stopped short in her tracks and 
commanded, “Shet yo’ mouf, you pot-black nig- 
ger!” which Nero promptly did, falling out of 
the tree backwards and dodging behind it. “You 
gwine ter bust yo’ face yit, wid dat Mammon 
Cave mouf er yourn, you grinnin’ sinner! You 
kin whisper in bofe years now,” she flung back at 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 33 

him, as she struggled up the hill in her dripping 
garments, her religious ardor considerably di- 
minished by anger within and by the wet and the 
mud without. 

The baptizing continued. In the midst of the 
frenzied shouting and singing Irvine climbed 
slowly out of the tree and crept away, backing 
along by rail fences and outhouses till he reached 
his cabin in the quarters. Flem, his robes hav- 
ing been dried out and pressed by his mammy, 
went down again and bravely tried his baptizing 
the second time, when it went off successfully 
under the guidance of good old Uncle Israel. 


CHAPTER III 


J ERRY was an orphan boy whom Colonel 
Elmore and Mrs. Elmore had reared. His 
father had been Colonel Elmore’s overseer, 
and had been faithful and attentive to the 
interests of his employer, who in turn had 
provided well for Jerry, sending him to school 
with* his own children in the family carriage. 
Being about twenty now, and doing the chores 
night and morning, — cutting wood, bringing 
water, and milking the cows, — Jerry was a com- 
fort to Mrs. Elmore, and she felt herself lean- 
ing more and more on him every day. She knew 
that he would probably leave her after a while 
to go to the front, for the call kept coming for 
more volunteers. 

As yet no Y ankee soldiers had passed that way, 
and the ladies had felt no apprehension of trouble 
of any kind from the raiders. Lately, however, 
they had heard that families in other states, and 
even in North Alabama, had had all their heir- 
looms stolen by the riffraff that often follows in 
34 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 35 

the wake of an army to plunder and loot, and 
Mrs. Elmore decided to send all her valuables 
to a place of safety without delay. She sent for 
Jerry and held consultation with him as to the 
wisest disposition of the silver, jewelry, and other 
things, which they finally decided to box up and 
bury in some secluded spot, — to be left there un- 
til the war should be over. Jerry thought the 
best time for executing this plan would be after 
dark when they would be safe from the prying 
eyes of the faithless darkies. 

“Now,” said Mrs. Elmore, “you will need 
some one to help you. You had better confide in 
Napoleon. He is absolutely trustworthy.” Ac- 
cordingly, Jerry went in search of him, trusting 
him as Mrs. Elmore did. 

Old Napoleon was the dining-room servant, or 
butler, and had been in the Elmore family for 
many years — in fact, he was one of Mrs. El- 
more’s wedding presents, and had come from Vir- 
ginia. As he habitually assumed a lofty air of 
dignity none of the servants ever succeeded in 
getting on familiar footing with him. He was 
constantly airing his superior wisdom and pom- 
pous manners before the other servants, and usu- 
ally prefaced what he said with, “When I was a 


36 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

boy in old Virginny.” Nothing was quite so good 
as the doings of the “quality folks” in the “Old 
Dominion.” 

At mealtime he always stood in front of the 
broad mahogany sideboard, and on warm days 
he fanned away with a peacock feather fan any 
stray flies that ventured into the spotlessly clean 
dining-room. This fan was made broad and flat 
and was fastened to a long basket-weave handle, 
which was painted white. When it stood at rest 
in the corner of the dining-room next to the ma- 
hogany corner-cupboard, where there was an ar- 
ray of delft blue china, it was an ornament to 
the room. 

Napoleon’s curiosity was unbounded. He 
usually stood, with his cheek resting in the palm 
of his left hand, while his right kept the fan go- 
ing, its long handle being tucked under his arm. 
When the conversation at the table reached a 
high pitch of interest the fan would drop lower 
and lower and Anally stop altogether until it 
was discovered that the long feathers were tick- 
ling the nose of a , guest, then he would jerk it 
up with a start and begin to fan imaginary flies 
vigorously. It was said that old Napoleon knew 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 37 

more gossip, political and social, than any one in 
the whole county. 

One day, after one of her periodical tiffs with 
Napoleon, Aunt Nora asked, “Brudder Jake, 
whut make Brudder Napoleon so straight up in 
de back, and so stiff in de neck jints^” 

“Wall, Sis Nora,” answered old Jake, with a 
grin, “I guess 'when he wuz a boy in ole Vir- 
ginnf he mus’ er cotch de Greeshun ben’ in de 
small er de back, an’ dat keep him fum bein’ 
soople lak us Alabama niggers.” 

When Mrs. Elmore sent Jerry to look for Na- 
poleon he found him busily engaged in polishing 
the brass andirons. They agreed to meet that 
night and begin operations. 

It was late in the afternoon when Sarah, the 
housegirl, went up to the barnyard to feed the 
fowls, and Mrs. Elmore, as was her habit, went 
to look over and count them, for her beautiful 
chickens were her pride. Sarah carried a pan 
from which she scattered the cornmeal dough in 
a long line up the barnyard drive. As the fowls 
lined up by the dozens on either side like 
two armies they were a pretty sight, — turkeys, 
Plymouth Rock and Brahma chickens, guineas, 
and ducks, all with their heads together, feeding. 


38 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

Suddenly Mrs. Elmore threw up her hand and 
listened! Her face paled, and, without waiting 
for Sarah, she gathered her skirts and went hurry- 
ing to the house. At the garden gate she met 
Napoleon. 

‘‘The Yankees, Napoleon! I hear horses.” 

She rushed into the house, with Napoleon be- 
hind her. Hastily snatching a white counter- 
pane from her bed, she spread it upon the floor, 
and handing Napoleon her keys, she cried, “Run 
for the silver.” He was off to the dining-room 
in a flash, and soon returned bearing all the silver 
he could carry, which he poured onto the counter- 
pane, and then ran back for more. Meanwhile 
Mrs. Elmore was hurriedly emptying trunks, 
jewel boxes, and bureau drawers of their treas- 
ures. At last Napoleon came, bearing the silver 
coffee urn and a carved silver tray, and said that 
they were the last. It had required but a few 
moments to accomplish all this. Quickly gather- 
ing up the four corners, Napoleon tied the 
counterpane securely just as he heard the horses 
galloping up through the grove. 

“Where shall we hide it, Napoleon cried 
Mrs. Elmore, now thoroughly alarmed. 

Napoleon scratched his head, then jumped into 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 39 

the great open fireplace, and, placing his feet on 
the andirons, sprang up the chimney, pushing the 
bundle up, and fastening the long-handled shovel 
crosswise in such a manner that it would not fall. 
He then ran from the room and out toward the 
servants’ quarters, covered with soot. 

Mrs. Elmore walked calmly out to the front 
piazza. There a sight met her eyes that turned 
her fear into indignation. The Yankees, having 
torn down the bars of the barnyard fence, were 
mowing down the fowls with their swords like 
wheat. Headless chickens and turkeys were 
jumping about everywhere — many were picked 
alive and ran naked about the yard. After this 
wholesale destruction the men returned to their 
horses and rode away past the front steps down 
the curved driveway to the gate, only two or three 
having ventured into the house. 

The last man that galloped by had a large 
turkey gobbler tied by the feet to the pommel of 
his saddle. It was fluttering and flapping and 
gobbling as the man rode. When he passed the 
piazza he called out to Mrs. Elmore mockingly, 
“Yes, Mr. Yank, you’ll take the last turkey I’ve 
got!” 

Mrs. Elmore’s eyes flashed and her fists closed 


40 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

tightly by her side. Just then the children, with 
Jerry, came running up from the spring. 

‘‘What did they do?” they cried in one breath. 

Mrs. Elmore, with tears in her eyes, pointed to 
the barnyard. 

“Gather them up, Jerry,” she said. “We will 
put the negro boys on mules and send some to all 
our neighbors, and we will dress and use just as 
many as we can for our own table.” 

Jerry carried out her instructions, and people 
for many miles around feasted on turkeys, chick- 
ens, and ducks for several days afterward. 

That night when the big house was quiet and 
the negroes in the quarters had ceased their danc- 
ing and singing, Napoleon knocked softly at the 
back hall-door. Mrs. Elmore opened it and ad- 
mitted him. The cousins were packing a tin 
box with jewels, and Jerry was kneeling on the 
floor carefully wrapping each piece of silver in 
cloth and Ailing three wooden boxes. 

“Oh, Jerry,” said Mrs. Elmore, “we must hide 
them well, but I do not wish to know where you 
secrete them. If I should lose my coffee urn, 
Twould grieve me indeed. It was my mother’s 
and came with her from Virginia.” 

Jerry and Napoleon slipped softly out of the 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 41 

house and down through the grove, Jerry carry- 
ing one box on his shoulder and the box of jewels 
under his arm, while Napoleon rolled the two 
larger boxes, together with a spade, in the wheel- 
barrow. On the two went with their burdens, 
down the road and into the woods back of the 
spring until they reached a very large chestnut 
tree. There they dug a deep hole and buried 
one of the boxes. 

“What shall we do with this pile of dirt, Na- 
poleon asked Jerry, when they had finished. 
“It will tell on us sure.” 

“Dat’s whut I brung de wheelborry for,” an- 
swered the old man wisely. “When you fills up 
a hole wid a box, you got to put de dirt summers 
whut you dig out.” 

Filling the wheelbarrow, he rolled the dirt to 
a near-by thicket and emptied it into a deep gulch, 
saying that the rains would soon take all trace of 
it away. Then they made a circuit of the yard 
and entered the orchard. Going along under the 
trees nearest the fence, they came to a remote cor- 
ner under an old horse-apple tree, the limbs of 
which were partly dead. Here they buried the 
second box, leaving the spot as near as possible 
like they found it. This was not hard to do, as 


42 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

the ground had been freshly plowed close to the 
tree, and they threw the surplus dirt back into the 
furrows. 

“Now,” said Jerry, “this last large box we will 
carry over on the hill to the negro graveyard and 
bury it there.” 

“Naw, sir ! Naw, sir, not me !” said Napoleon, 
backing away, his eyes rolling. 

“Oh, come along, Napoleon,” laughed Jerry, 
“don’t be such an onion head. That’s the finest 
place on earth to hide anything. Nobody would 
think of looking for it there.” 

“Naw-sir-ree !” Napoleon answered vehe- 
mently, “yer ain’t gwine ter tole me inter nobody’s 
graveyard atter de sun goes down.” 

“Well then,” said Jerry impatiently, “I’ll go 
by myself.” 

“I’ll go up de lane as fur as de big gate whut 
goes inter de graveyard,” compromised the old 
butler, “but dat’s des’ as fur as I gwine to ’spose 
myse’f,” and, picking up his shovel, he followed 
Jerry, who had already entered the lane. 

He lagged far behind though, and every few 
steps he paused to listen as if afraid to go farther. 
When Jerry reached the gate, Napoleon hurried 



‘There they buried one of the boxes” 


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CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 45 

up to open it for him, but in his fright and haste 
he forgot that it had to be lifted, or opened noise- 
lessly, and he jerked it open with a loud, scraping, 
rasping noise that broke the solemn stillness. 

“Great Jehoshaphat !” exclaimed Jerry, “that 
was enough to awaken the dead and send their 
ghosts flying after you, Napoleon.” 

“Hush, Marse Jerry, I ain’t got no sense ’bout 
a graveyard,” he answered, and thrusting the 
shovel into the latter’s hand he ran as fast as he 
could back an hundred yards and stood in the 
middle of the lane to see what disaster would 
befall Jerry. 

Jerry soon buried the last box of silver and 
covered the place with leaves. Then he closed 
the gate softly and joined Napoleon, whose steps 
he could not keep pace with until they had once 
more entered the yard. Going to the house he 
crawled far up underneath the piazza to the dark 
interior of one of the chimneys. Here he dug a 
hole and deposited the jewels. When their work 
was finished, they put away their tools and knock- 
ing at the hall-door told Mrs. Elmore that her 
orders had been carried out. 

Jerry’s room was out in the yard and was con- 
nected with the house by a colonnade. Napoleon 


46 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

walked across the yard with him. Just as they 
said ‘‘Good night” Jerry stopped suddenly and 
caught the old man by the arm. “Hush,” he 
whispered, “what was that?” At the same time 
they both heard a door close softly in the quar- 
ters. Then the feeble light of a candle flared up, 
spluttered, and went out. 

“Whose cabin is that, Napoleon?” asked Jerry. 

“Dat’s dat nocount nigger Irvine’s!” he an- 
swered. 

“Do you reckon he could have been spying on 
us to-night?” whispered Jerry. 

“I dunno,” said Napoleon. “De Debbil 
gwine ter sizzle dat nigger on er pitchfork yit. 
He allers prowlin’ ’round tendin’ ter somebody 
else’s bizness.” And the old darky shuffled off 
to his cabin, while Jerry retired to his bed to 
sleep. 

The light burned long afterward in Mrs. El- 
more’s room. She was kneeling by the tall four- 
poster bed, praying for courage and strength to 
bear the coming trials of the war, — praying for 
•her loved ones in battle and for the safety of her 
children at home. 


CHAPTER IV 


T he August sun blazed down on the earth, 
drawing quivering heat waves into the air, 
and scorching the fields of grain. The bees 
hummed drowsily in the clover while the cattle 
sought the shelter of the trees to doze and rest. 
Not a leaf stirred, and the stillness made the heat 
seem more intense. 

A solitary horseman appeared, riding slowly 
down the dusty road on a horse that was jaded 
and drooping. The reins hung loosely on the 
animal’s neck and the rider, with hands on the 
pommel of the saddle, leaned forward in the 
stirrups as if he were as tired as the horse. It 
was Dr. Murray, returning home from one of his 
cross-country trips to the bedside of a very ill 
patient, having ridden twenty miles, and having 
had little or no sleep for two nights previous. 
Such was the life of a country doctor in the 
’sixties, — sleepless nights and long rides in all 
kinds of weather, over all kinds of roads. 

Abruptly the stillness was broken by the clat- 
ter of another horse’s hoofs and in a cloud of dust 
47 


48 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

another horseman appeared, riding like mad over 
the hill. As he came nearer, the doctor recog- 
nized the fat figure of Jonas Schmidt careening 
in the saddle. 

“Hello, Doc!” he called, as he came jolting 
up. “I vas riding to your house. I vant you 
come queeck alreadty. My old ’oman took pad. 
She haf got a pad preaking out in der mouth, 
and, py Golly, I p’lieve she goin’ die!” 

The doctor sighed and looked toward the 
Schmidt farm five miles away, but visions of 
Jonas’ wife, poisoned, or perhaps taking small- 
pox, and the sight of the Dutchman’s anxious 
face made him hesitate no longer. 

“I’ll go, Jonas,” he answered. “Aren’t you 
coming, too?” 

“No, I got some bizness ofer to Miss Elmore’s. 
I pe right pack. Maype I ofertake you.” 

They parted, Jonas galloping on the main 
road, while the doctor rode as swiftly as his jaded 
horse could carry him toward the Schmidt place. 

Riding up to the gate, he hurriedly dismounted 
and taking off his saddle-bags threw them over 
his arm and entered the porch. He was met at the 
door by Mrs. Schmidt herself, sleeves rolled up, 
and broom in hand. In his most professional 



“Let me see your mouth, Mrs. Schmidt” 


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CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 51 

manner he walked up to her and ordered, “Let 
me see your mouth, Mrs. Schmidt,” adjusting his 
glasses at the same time. 

Mrs. Schmidt, plainly astonished, threw the 
broom aside and setting her hands on her hips 
demanded, “Who said dere vas any ting der 
matter wid my mouth 

“Why,” answered the patient doctor, “haven’t 
you a breaking out in the mouth I met your 
husband back on the high road, riding fast, com- 
ing after me. He said you were ill, and he was 
afraid you were going to die.” 

“Tinks I’m goin’ to die, does he? Freaking 
out in der mouth! I’ll teach him to play shokes 
on his unsuspectin’ wife! I’ll, I’ll — ” but her 
anger was so great that words failed her, and she 
turned back into the house. 

In an instant the doctor awoke to the fact that 
he and Mrs. Schmidt were both the victims of one 
of Jonas’ practical jokes. . The whole situation 
flashed over him, and as he had a keen sense of 
humor the Dutchman’s joke struck his funny- 
bone all in a heap. Falling into a chair, he for- 
got his late weariness and peal after peal of 
laughter shook the porch and awakened the house 
dog on the steps. 


52 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

Mrs. Schmidt was almost spitting fire in her 
wrath. In the kitchen she was throwing pans 
around like a cyclone. Appearing again in the 
doorway, she waved a floor mop at the doctor. 

“Get out of here!” she cried. “You and 
Jonas made up dot treek togedder. Don’t you 
show your face here again. Freaking out in der 
mouth !” 

The physician, scenting trouble, hurriedly took 
his hat and left, shaking with laughter. An hour 
later, riding homeward, he met Jonas, also riding 
homeward. When the Dutchman caught sight 
of the doctor a grin spread slowly over his face, 
and reining up his horse he asked, his hands in 
his trousers’ pockets, “How much. Doctor?” 

With a serious face, but with twinkling eyes, 
the doctor answered: “Ten dollars, Jonas. That 
breaking out is pretty bad ; chronic, I think.” 

Jonas drew from a little pouch ten shining gold 
dollars and counted them into the doctor’s hand. 
As he rode away the grin grew broader, and turn- 
ing in his saddle he called to the doctor: “Dot 
vas alright. Doc. You tinks you vas got der 
shoke on me. I don’t mind dot ten. It vas vorth 
it.” 

Darkness had settled over the hills when the 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 53 

doctor rode through the driveway gate of his 
home. Throwing the reins to a negro boy, he 
went up the steps, still chuckling to himself. 


CHAPTER V 


A ll the morning the cousins and Mrs. Elmore 
had bustled about in a state of pleasant ex- 
citement, for they were preparing a box to send 
to Colonel Elmore. A message had come from a 
friend who was going back to the army after a 
furlough, assuring them of its safe delivery. Into 
this box were put a generous supply of home-knit 
socks, underwear, and home-made shirts, not only 
for the colonel but also for other needy soldiers. 
Rolls of bandages, made from strips of old soft 
cloth or linen, and many other necessities and com- 
forts were also put in, together with packages for 
friends and favorite cousins in the regiment. 

About two o’clock in the afternoon a small 
squad of Federal soldiers came riding by. The 
captain dismounted and asked Mrs. Elmore the 
direction to the spring, in order that his men and 
horses might refresh themselves. She pointed it 
out to him, and soon all the soldiers were lying 
in the shade of the trees resting. 

Bessie, who was playing near-by, noticed a 
commotion in one of the martin boxes, which were 
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CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 57 

placed on the tops of tall, stout poles set at in- 
tervals along the lane to the spring. The birds 
seemed greatly frightened and they chirped and 
fluttered, circling, hound and hound their houses. 
Bessie’s curiosity got the better of her and for- 
getting all previous admonitions she decided to 
see what the disturbance was. Climbing hand 
over hand like a monkey on the cross-pieces nailed 
short distances apart on the pole, she was soon at 
the top and was just in the act of peering in, 
when a large snake raised itself from the dark in- 
terior and darted its head out the opening almost 
in her very face. With a scream, she loosened 
her hold and fell to the ground in a heap. A few 
minutes later Mrs. Elmore was horrified at the 
sight of the young Yankee captain bringing her 
up the steps in his arms. 

“Do not be alarmed, madam,” he called, “she 
has only fainted. See, she is coming to herself. 
She fell from one of the martin boxes.” 

He laid her on a lounge, and while her grand- 
mother was feeling for broken bones he hurried 
for water and a towel and began bathing her face. 
The cousins came running down-stairs, and were 
much astonished to see a handsome young Yankee 
officer bending over little Bessie and making him- 


58 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

self very much at home. At that moment Bessie 
opened her eyes and looking around said slowly, 
“I’ll bet there’s a snake in that martin box down 
yonder!” 

Every one laughed, for that explained what 
had happened. 

The ^captain stepped to the door and calling 
some of his men up from the spring told them 
about the snake in the bird’s box. One fat Irish- 
man tried pelting the box with stones to make 
the snake come out, but he couldn’t hit the side 
of a church, so he gave up in disgust. Then he 
found a long reed hshing-pole and with this he 
poked inside the box until the snake leaned far out. 
As it did so, another soldier shot its head off and 
the snake fell to the ground. 

, “Faith and be jabbers!” cried the Irishman, 
“Oi’m sorry for the Johnnies you shoot at!” 

But before he got the words out of his mouth 
a queer thing happened. The snake as it fell to 
the ground kept running, although its head was 
entirely severed from its body. The soldiers 
scattered in affright, and the fat Irishman rolled 
over and over in his excitement, crossing himself 
as he went. It was the funniest thing imaginable. 
The tail of the snake wiggled off in some under- 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 59 

brush in the fence corner, while the head contin- 
ued to run about for some moments as if seeking 
a place to hide, until finally it too ran under a heap 
of logs and died. 

“Well, and phwat dy ye think of thot^?” puffed 
the Irishman. “Thot snake was hoodooed!” 
And he got up, shaking the dirt and trash from his 
hair and clothes. 

Mrs. Elmore then asked the captain if he could 
not leave her a guard, as she had received a mes- 
sage that a squad of soldiers, said to be raiders, 
would reach them at any time. He at once pro- 
posed that he and his men remain with them till 
nightfall. Then he went down to the spring 
grove and ordered his soldiers up to the yard, 
where he placed two sentinels on duty at the 
driveway gate and others at other points where 
the raiders might gain an entrance. 

Sure enough, about an hour afterward, toward 
the middle of the afternoon, there rode up to the 
gate a party of raiders. As some of them dis- 
mounted they were met by the guards, who or- 
dered them to move on, and they dared not dis- 
obey, for they did not know from whom the 
guards were receiving orders nor whose property 
they were guarding. After a time another de- 


6o CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


tachment passed and they too halted, but were 
commanded by the sentinels to keep moving. 
They showed very plainly that they were raiders, 
for many and varied were the articles hanging 
from their saddles, among which were a heavy 
silver waiter and a large carved teapot. Not even 
being allowed to stop for water they rode away, 
sullen and angry. 

After this the captain, with two or three sol- 
diers, came into the piazza and asked the cousins 
to play and sing something for them. Lucy in- 
dignantly refused. Fannie, too, hesitated — she 
wasn’t quite certain as to the etiquette concerning 
Southern girls and Yankee soldiers. But Ala, 
who possessed a mischievous spirit and a good 
voice too, went into the parlor and soon the mar- 
tial song “Dixie” rang out to the listening Yan- 
kees. They laughed at her daring, for she sang 
it well, too. When she had finished they asked 
for “Yankee Doodle.” Instead she sang “The 
Bonnie Blue Flag.” In vain they pleaded, but 
each time when asked she sang her own selection, 
— some Southern air. Finally she compromised 
by playing some rollicking music, such as “Come 
Haste to the Wedding” and “The Bad Man’s 
Dream,” and by singing several of her favorite 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 6i 


songs, — “Sleeping I dream, Love,” “Fairy Belle,” 
and “Molly Darling.” 

The shadows were lengthening down in the 
grove when the captain told Mrs. Elmore that 
they would have to ride on in order to join their 
company. She would not hear of their going, 
however, until she could show her appreciation by 
sending trays of hot coffee, fresh biscuit, and 
broiled ham to the soldiers. 

As they mounted their horses the young cap- 
tain lingered behind to exchange a word with 
Fannie, who had scarcely spoken the whole after- 
noon. 

“I know that you sing,” he said. “You look like 
you do, and I expect to hear you some day.” 

“Why,” she exclaimed, a trifle haughtily, “I 
never expect to see you again!” 

“That remains to be proved,” he answered, and 
raising his cap he swung into the saddle and rode 
away. 


CHAPTER VI 


I T was the day of Hallowe’en, and Ben’s friend, 
Albert Murray, had come to spend the day 
and night with him. In the afternoon the boys 
went hunting, taking Barney along to ^'side-tree” 
the squirrels. It is a most provoking thing to 
have a squirrel play hide and seek with one in the 
branches of a tree. Just as one is taking careful 
aim he will run around to the opposite side of the 
tree, and he will keep up this kind of a game an 
entire afternoon until the hunter’s patience is ex- 
hausted. Barney’s office was to stand on one side 
of the tree and scare the squirrels around. The 
little fellow f^lt his importance very much at be- 
ing allowed to go hunting with the older boys. 

Bessie went for a jaunt in the woods with the 
cousins to gather chestnuts and scaly-bark nuts. 
It was a perfect autumn afternoon. They 
crossed fields edged with masses of goldenrod and 
purple' asters, and the marsh lands were strewn 
with little fringed gentians “colored with heaven’s 
own blue.” A merry chorus of crickets sounded 
lazily from amid the brown stubble, while myr- 
62 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 63 

iads of grasshoppers, “the little old men of the 
meadows,” scattered from their path. When 
they entered the forest the continued sound of fall- 
ing leaves was heard on every side, — all the trees, 
— the birch, the oak, the hickory, the poplar, and 
the gum, — were showering down their wealth of 
red and brown and gold, until the earth resembled 
a gorgeous Persian carpet. The frost fairy had 
touched the chestnut and beechnut burrs, and they 
were opening wide their stores and even spilling 
their brown nuts on the ground. 

Bessie and the cousins flitted about, filling their 
baskets and crushing and opening the burrs with 
stones. In some places the ground around a bare 
old hickory tree would be strewn almost white with 
thin-skinned scaly-bark nuts, already shaken from 
their black shells. Once Bessie jumped and 
squealed as a hasty little chipmunk, in his brown 
and yellow striped coat, darted almost under her 
very nose and went down in his hole beneath the 
trunk of an old dead tree. 

They started for home just as the sun was set- 
ting, their baskets heavy with nuts and their arms 
filled with wild flowers, autumn leaves, and wild 
grapes. As they crossed the fields flights of swal- 
lows going farther south dipped and circled above 


64 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

them, and the sound of bells came across the 
meadow as the cows were being driven home. It 
was late, — fully supper time, — when the boys re- 
turned, and Bessie ran eagerly to meet them. Ben 
was carrying some large object in his arms. 

“Here’s a present we have brought you, Bes- 
sie,” he called to her. 

Delighted, she held out her arms for it. It was 
a tiny baby deer, which they had found wounded 
in the forest. Barney’s eyes looked on wistfully 
as they crowded around their grandmother, tell- 
ing her how they had found the little creature 
so helpless and frightened, but he was a generous, 
unselfish little boy and very magnanimously al- 
lowed his twin to have the deer. 

His grandmother, noticing him, said gently, 
“And Barney shall have a pet, too.” 

“I tell you, Mistiss,” said Old Jake, “give 
Barney dat little yoke er steers whut I fotch down 
yistiddy. Dey sho is good matches, an’ he kin 
break dem hisse’f.” 

“That’s a very happy suggestion, Jake,” re- 
plied Mrs. Elmore. “Barney, would you like 
that?” 

“Oh yes, grandmother,” he cried gladly, “I 
would like that best of all.” 


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CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 67 

So it was agreed that Barney should have the 
little pair of oxen for his own. Then he and Bes- 
sie hurried away to the kitchen with the baby deer 
to see if they could induce it to drink some warm 
milk, which they found it would take from a 
spoon like a baby. After their grandmother had 
dressed its wound they made it a comfortable bed 
in the wood-house; then they went in to their sup- 
per. The boys’ squirrels made a savory stew 
and, with honey and beaten biscuits for supper, 
they felt that they were very rich, indeed, con- 
sidering they were children of the Confederacy. 

. After supper they spent the evening roasting 
apples and boiling chestnuts, and their grand- 
mother and the cousins assisted. A kettle of 
salted water was placed over the log fire in the 
dining-room. As it began boiling the chestnuts 
were dropped in, and when they were done, poured 
out on a platter, and cooled, they were delicious. 
The cousins tested their fortunes by naming chest- 
nuts after their absent soldier sweethearts and 
roasting them over the fire in the long brass- 
handled shovels. When a chestnut popped off the 
shovel into the fire his namesake was pronounced 
false and fickle indeed. At last, tired and happy, 
they kissed their grandmother good night and 


68 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


each, with his lighted candle, went up the stairs 
to bed. 

The next morning, almost at the peep of day, 
the twins were up and dressed, for Barney wished 
to break his steers and Bessie to see her pet once 
more. Barney aroused Flem and together they 
ran to the barnyard and brought out the calves, 
while Bessie perched herself on the horse block, 
with the little deer in her arms, to watch the pro- 
ceedings. 

The boys soon fitted the small steers with a 
solid wooden yoke kept for the purpose. Tying 
a rope to the yoke near the outside horn of each 
calf they began the exciting task. The calves 
started off . briskly at first, but soon they began 
to gallop, and it was all the boys could do to keep 
pace with them. Finally the ropes were jerked 
out of the boys’ hands and they found themselves 
sitting in the middle of the road, gazing after their 
disappearing team. After running, a short dis- 
tance the steers stopped and separated as far as 
possible, turning their heads as near together as 
the wooden yoke would allow and calmly gazing 
into each other’s eyes. Nor did they appear to 
be anything but docile when the boys, springing 
to their feet, ran up and caught them. 



Calmly gazing into each other’s eyes 





CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 71 

Suddenly a happy thought struck Flem. 

“Let’s tie dey tails togedder,” he suggested. 

“All right!” said Barney. 

And they did tie their tails hard and fast to- 
gether. Then each boy taking a rope, they 
cracked their whips and here they came, calves 
and boys, flying down the road. Bessie waved 
her arms and cheered as they dashed past her. 

“Hold on, Flem, hold on!” shouted Barney, 
who was himself touching the ground in spots. 

But it was plainly seen that the young steers 
were running away — they were gaining speed with 
every breath. At last the ropes flew out of the 
boys’ hands and they went spinning and rolling in 
the dust. Faster and faster went the calves. 

Down the road a few yards stood a wagon- 
shelter, and the calves seemed making straight 
for it. They reached it at topmost speed, the 
center of the wooden yoke striking one of the tall 
corner posts, which split the yoke wide open. Of 
course when the post reached the tails something 
had to break there too; and it did. With a sound 
like the crack of a whip, the calves were free and 
speeding on in their mad career. 

“Lordy! I believe dey broke dey tails off!” 
shouted Flem, his eyes rolling. 


72 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

Both boys and Bessie ran toward the house and 
at the gate they met old Jake coming out to see 
what the excitement was. He was an angry 
darky when he found that they had lost the 
calves. Hurrying back to the stables, he mounted 
a horse and started in search of the runaways. 

The family had finished breakfast and were all 
sitting on the front piazza when they saw him re- 
turning with the calves. As he came closer a 
shout of laughter went up from the group on the 
porch, for one steer walked by, bellowing and in- 
dignant, wearing two tails tied together, the 
wrong end of one trailing in the dust, and the 
other stalked along in sullen silence, for he had 
not the suspicion of a tail in the place where a 
tail ought to be. 


CHAPTER VII 


T he morning was crispy cold. Jack Frost 
was everywhere nipping toes and fingers, 
ears and noses, and leaving them numb and red 
as cherries. Jerry came swinging along, his 
heavy boots crunching the hard frozen ground. 
He was trying to balance a pail of milk on his 
head and whistle “The Mocking-Bird” at the same 
time, but it wouldn’t work, for Jerry had a funny 
way of wriggling his head as he whistled, to keep 
time. Then it wasn’t the proper time to be 
whistling mocking-bird tunes anyway — anybody 
in Dixie but Jerry would have known that. 

It isn’t funny when it is cold in the Southland, 
for the people are not accustomed to severe 
weather, and that morning all the family were 
around the blazing log fires in the sitting-room 
and in the dining-room. Wood was one of the 
few things that they did not have to economize 
in. Meat and bread might be lacking, but when 
the few very cold days came they could luxuriate 
in the warmth of a cherry log fire to their hearts’ 
content. 


73 


74 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

As Jerry entered the big kitchen the smell of 
frying sausage greeted him, and he gave a shout 
of joy as he set down the milk pails. He knew 
what that meant — the fall hog killing was in prog- 
ress. 

Disappearing around the house he ran up to the 
barnyard, where a number of negroes were en- 
gaged in the work of preparing the meat for the 
smoke-house. Fully twenty large pigs were hang- 
ing suspended from rods under the trees and ket- 
tles of boiling water stood near-by. Some of the 
men were scalding and scraping the pigs until each 
one was clean and white, while others were at a 
long platform cutting and assorting the meat. 
Negro women were passing to and fro bearing 
great pans of fat toward the kitchen to be boiled 
down and made into lard. Barney and Bessie 
were dancing about on their toes to keep warm and 
playing tag in every one’s way. 

Ben, who was turning the handle of a big sau- 
sage grinder, called to Jerry to take his place, for 
he saw Jonas Schmidt riding toward the gate. 

As the children ran to meet Jonas, he called 
out: “Py Golly! I p’lieve effery pody iss makin’ 
sausage to-day. Der porkers iss hangin’ high at 
effery pody’s place I passed. Pol and me kilt 



“They made a pretty picture indeed” 



CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 77 

all we had yesterday. Tell you, though, you pet- 
ter look out. Der Yankees vill eat dose sausages 
already yet.’’ 

“They’ll get it over my dead body, if they do,” 
exclaimed Ben defiantly. 

“Ha, ha !” laughed the Dutchman, “Polly says 
she’ll purn der shmoke-house down fust.” 

As he rode away the breakfast bell rang and 
the children scampered to the house. What a 
breakfast it was! Fresh pork chops, sausage, 
crackling bread, lye hominy, and corn cakes, — 
just a sample of the extravagance of a southern 
planter’s family that had not yet been seriously 
affected by the war. 

As the others were leaving the dining-room 
Jerry came in for his breakfast, his face rosy from 
recent ablutions with cold water. 

“Mrs. Elmore,” he said, “old Chineabee is out 
in the barnyard. He’s been sitting on a stump out 
there watching the men all the time you all were 
eating, and he hasn’t spoken a word since he 
came.” 

“Poor fellow,” replied Mrs. Elmore, “he is 
lonely, I imagine. Run, Barney, and tell him to 
come to the kitchen and have some warm break- 
fast.” As the twins ran away, glad to do her 


78 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

bidding, she continued, “I sometimes think the 
old man gets homesick for the companionship of 
his own people.” 

Soon the children returned with old Chineabee, 
to whom they gave a chair by the kitchen fire, and 
then they ran to get him a cup of hot coffee and 
a plate of breakfast. The Indian thawed out 
wonderfully under the kindness of his pets, and 
when he had finished eating he lighted his long 
pipe, while both children climbed to his lap, talk- 
ing like magpies. Later, when their grandmother 
came in to speak some cheering words to the old 
chief, she thought that they made a pretty pic- 
ture indeed. 

The following days were busy ones. All the 
meat was cured with sorghum, pepper, and salt- 
peter, then it was suspended from the ceiling of 
the long smoke-house. Low fires of ash and hick- 
ory wood were built on the dirt floor, and the 
meat was thoroughly smoked to preserve it for 
the winter. What an array there was of hams, 
bacon, ribs, and of long, narrow bags of sausage, 
barrels of crackling, and cans of lard. 

Early one morning a few days later a boy about 
fourteen years old galloped up to the gate and 
asked for Mrs. Elmore. His horse was wet with 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 79 

foam, for he had ridden a long way from one of 
the upper plantations. 

“The Yankees are headed this way,’’ he called. 
“They are now at Johnson’s ford. They are raid- 
ers, too, so you had better hide anything of value.” 

Mrs. Elmore thanked him and noticing his 
tired horse urged him to take “Firefly” and leave 
his own to rest until his return. This the boy 
gladly consented to do. Uncle Jake was called, 
and the exchange was quickly made. Doffing his 
hat, the young Paul Revere was off and gallop- 
ing down the road to warn the next plantation. 

Hastily summoning Jerry and calling Ben and 
the cousins in consultation, Mrs. Elmore said: 
“What shall we do? I do so hate to see all our 
winter’s supply of meat taken.” 

Jerry suggested that they fill a wagon with the 
greater part of the meat and let him drive it far 
into the woods. This plan was thought wise and 
was hastily carried out, but very quietly, in order 
that the negroes might suspect nothing. The 
wagon, — a large new one, — was filled with the 
choicest hams and bacon, and one barrel of molas- 
ses was put in. Then four of the finest mules were 
hitched to the wagon, and Jerry drove away by a 
back road toward the forest. 


8o CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


But one pair of eyes was watching. The ne- 
gro Irvine was peering through a crack in the 
gear and saddle-house. He had heard the rider 
approach, and had hastened down from the wood- 
yard where he was at work to see if he could hear 
anything of consequence. As soon as the wagon 
had gone he slipped back to the woodyard, climbed 
to the top of the fence, and, shading his eyes with 
his hand, watched the disappearing wagon as far 
as he could see. 

Ben and the twins stayed near their grand- 
mother all morning, fearing they knew not what. 
Old Jake carried all the best horses and mules 
to a ravine back of the spring and tied them there, 
leaving them a plenty of food. 

About noon the family heard the sound of 
horses’ hoofs on the upper road coming nearer and 
nearer. Almost before they realized it the house 
was filled with Yankees. They were only a small 
detachment, however. But they ran up-stairs and 
down, devoured everything eatable, then hurried 
to the smoke-house. Disappointed at finding so 
little meat there they began to question the ne- 
groes, many of whom had run in, frightened and 
excited. 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 8i 


Seeing Irvine in the center of a group of sol- 
diers and noticing that he was talking fast and 
pointing toward the woods back of the house, Ben 
whispered quickly to his grandmother that the 
negro had betrayed them. There was conclusive 
evidence of the fact when the Yankees mounted 
their horses and all rode hurriedly up the back 
road. 

The children had never seen Mrs. Elmore so 
agitated. She was greatly grieved to think that 
the traitor should be Irvine, whose life she had 
saved when he was a child, by tending him and 
giving him medicine. And when a tottering babe 
he had fallen into the fire and had been severely 
burned hers had been the hand that had dressed 
his wounds. Even now that he was a man she, 
knowing that he was not strong, had always given 
him light work near the house rather than let him 
go into the fields. And thus she was repaid. 

Jerry, who had been near the edge of the woods 
watching every movement of the Yankees, realized 
that his hiding-place was discovered. He had 
hidden the wagon in a jungle of pines and tangled 
vines, but he knew that if they persisted in riding 
deep into the forest, they would be sure to find 


82 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


it. So he ran with all his might back into the 
jungle and quickly cut the traces. Jumping on 
the back of one of the mules and driving the 
others he rode to a gorge some distance farther 
into the forest, where they were completely 
hidden by. the overhanging vines and other under- 
growth. 

“They may have the wagon and provisions, but 
they sha’n’t have four of the finest mules in Ala- 
bama, — not if I can help it,” he muttered. 

He had barely gotten away when the raiders 
rode up and discovered the wagon. They were 
angry men when they saw that they could not 
remove that heavy wagon out of the forest. 

Some of them set out in pursuit of the person 
who had run with the horses, or mules, that had 
brought it there. For some time they galloped 
about in all directions. Jerry could hear them 
right above his head, and he softly patted each 
mule over and over in turn to keep them from 
nickering. 

Finally, in desperation, the Yankees returned 
to the wagon, and after a time Jerry saw flames 
and smoke darting up through the trees. Cha- 
grined in being defeated they had built a fire under 
the wagon and now it was a blazing bonfire. 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 83 

About an hour later when Jerry very sorrow- 
fully led the four mules toward home they passed 
the blackened heap of ashes and the rims of wheels 
where the loaded wagon had ^tood. 


CHAPTER VIII 



HE next morning after breakfast Mrs. El- 


A more sent for Irvine. As he came shuffling 
up she could not find voice at first to speak to him, 
but when she could sufficiently control herself she 
said: “Irvine, you have betrayed your best 
friends. You are a leper among the other serv- 
ants. Go. You may have your freedom. Take 
all your clothes and have Nora prepare for you 
enough to eat for two days. Don’t ever set foot 
on this plantation again. Our troubles are on us 
now ; yours will come soon enough. Don’t let me 
find you here after the clock strikes twelve.” 

Astonished, the ingrate turned, without a word, 
toward his cabin. An hour later he was seen 
walking briskly down the cross-road to join the 
Yankee camps some miles away. 

The other negroes were greatly awed over the 
dismissal of Irvine, and they talked in subdued 
voices at their work, — all but Flem and Nero, the 
stable boys, who gave vent to their relief at the 
riddance by turning handsprings and cart-wheels 
and singing lustily: 


84 




k M 



CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 87 

“Run, nigger, run, de patterole ’ll ketch yer 
“Run, nigger, run, hit’s almost day.” 


Not one of them envied Irvine his freedom — they 
all talked of “Old Miss’s” kindness to him in past 
years and of the wise course she had pursued in 
sending him away. But at intervals through the 
day, from the top of the woodpile, Flem could 
be heard singing: 


“De nigger run, de nigger flew, 

“De nigger tore his shirt in two,” — 


and Nero at the spring, or somewhere else on the 
plantation, would answer like an echo: 


“Run, nigger, run, de patterole ’ll ketch yer, 
“Run, nigger, run, hit’s almost day.” 


Barney and Bessie darted in and out of the 
kitchen behind Aunt Nora, who was busy making 
side-pies of stewed dried peaches, and the old 
negro’s voice could be heard threatening them with 
“Raw Hide and Bloody Bones,” while they pro- 
tested, “But, Mammy Nora, you gave Ben 
two turn-over pies, and you didn’t give us but 
one.” 


88 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


“Well, here den, you rapscallions you ! Doan’ 
you come back here ergin ’fore supper.” As they 
ran away Aunt Nora went back to her work fill- 
ing and turning over the pastry and pressing 
down and fluting the edges with a fork. 

Uncle Jake, who had come in from the work- 
house and stood leaning against the door-facing, 
said, “Ain’t you jest a leetle hard on dem chillun. 
Sis Nora?” 

“Hard? Hard? Who dat ’sensin’ me er 
bein’ hard on Miss Virginny’s chilluns?” Here 
she lowered her voice to a solemn pitch and spoke 
in funereal tones. “I drempt las’ night, Brudder 
Jake, I had one dem visionaries.” 

“Is dat so?” answered the latter, greatly inter- 
ested. 

Dilcie came in just then, with the dish-cloth 
on her arm, and paused to listen, for Aunt Nora’s 
dreams occasionally took weird and wonderful 
shapes. 

She waited until she had put the pies in the 
oven, then she began impressively: “Hit wuz en- 
durin’ uv Christmas ’bout three year ago I had 
dis same dream. I seed Miss Virginny den an’ 
I seed her ergin las’ night. I seed her a long ways 
off a-comin’ froo de clouds. Dey parted an’ roll 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 89 

up ter one- side lak de waters uv de Jordan did fer 
dem pore tired chillun er Israel, — an’ here she 
come er-riden’, er-riden’ on er great white boss. 
An’ dey was bofe er-shinen’ like de sun. De 
boss’s big wings wuz er-flappen’ an’ er-flappen’ 
an’ he wuz er-breathin’ smoke frum his nostruls. 
Every time his hoofs hit de groun’ dey strike de 
fire in er blaze like er blacksmif. An’ Miss Vir- 
ginny call ter me, ‘Nora, Nora, take kere uv my 
little chillun !’ ” 

“Lordy!” said Dilcie, “you wuz cunjered”; but 
Aunt Nora paid no attention to this interruption. 
Rocking herself back and forth in her straight 
chair, she folded her arms and resumed: 

“Dar I lay an’ shivered an’ shuck. All de kink 
come out er my hair an’ de cole sweat bust out all 
over me. Jes’ den I look froo de winder an’ see 
de full moon lookin’ at me. An’ den de moon 
’gun ter move an’ hit come right in froo de 
winder.” 

“Oh, Lordy,” moaned Dilcie, and she threw 
her apron over her head, while Jake stopped smok- 
ing and stood rapt and open-mouthed, listening. 

Aunt Nora continued her story, still crooning 
and rocking her body : 

“De moon come an’ sot right up on de head er 


90 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

my bed, an’ he sez to me, sezze, 'Nora, Nora, take 
kere er dem motherless chillun,’ an’ den he riz 
slow lak, he did, an’ sailed away on up whar he 
come frum.” 

Uncle Jake breathed a heavy, groaning sigh of 
relief. Aunt Nora suddenly stopped rocking and 
ran to the oven, — just in time, for the pies were a 
delicious brown and one minute more would have 
ruined them, — and Dilcie took her apron from 
over her head and gasped, “You wuz cunjered 
sho’ !” 

“Who dat say I’se cunjered? — Me?” cried 
Aunt Nora, whirling around and opening her 
homespun dress at the throat to display a rabbit 
foot hung from a red flannel string. “Does yer 
know whut dat is? Dat’s de lef hine foot uv er 
rabbit whut wuz kilt in er graveyard whilst hit 
wuz dancin’ on old Major Hilton’s grave, an’ 
dey ain’t nuthin’ kin cunjer me whilst I got dat on 
my pusson.” 

As she stacked the pies pig-pen fashion on a plat- 
ter, she continued vigorously: “An’, Brudder Jake, 
I’se a-gwine ter take kere uv dem chillun jes’ as 
long as dis ole nigger got bref. But I ain’t 
gwine ter stan’ fer dem gallervatin’ all over de 
place en’ er argerfyin’ wid me, — now dar!” 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 91 

Dilcie hurried to the dining-room and Uncle 
Jake to his work. Soon Aunt Nora was heard 
singing, “Nora, Nora, opan de winder, let de dove 
come in.” 


CHAPTER IX 


At der sign of triumph Satan's host doth 

JL^ flee, 

''On den, Chreestian soldiers, on to victory!" 

The voice rang out clear and full, for ’twas 
Mrs. Schmidt, singing at her ironng. Every 
third or fourth word was punctuated and 
emphasized by a thud of the hot iron as she 
planted it firmly here and there, with a vigor that 
would have augured ill indeed for the king of the 
nether world himself, had he chosen to appear 
just then. 

Mr. Schmidt lay sleeping under his own vine 
and fig tree, metaphorically speaking, for in this 
instance the fig tree was his cozy kitchen. 
Stretched full length on a rug before the fire, his 
head and shoulders reclining on a pillow laid over 
the back of a turned-down chair, his noisy snoring 
proclaimed his enjoyment of this his favorite at- 
titude. 

“On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand,” sang 
Mrs. Schmidt, “and cast, — mien gracious. Sambo ! 
vat’s der matter,” The tiniest little negro, trem- 
bling in every limb, stood on the threshold. 

92 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 93 

“De Yankees! De Yankees!” he gasped, 
“Dey’s cornin’ down de road.” 

Turning, Mrs. Schmidt ran to her husband and, 
shaking him roughly, cried: “Der Yankees, Der 
Yankees! Jonas, wake up!” But Jonas only 
stopped snoring and fell off the chair dead asleep. 
“Wake up, wake up, you idiot!” she screamed, 
and, turning to the water bucket on a shelf near 
the door, she caught up a dipper of cold water and 
dashed it over his face. 

Jonas got to his feet, spluttering and quarrel- 
ing, “Py Golly! vat der you take me for, ole 
’oman, — a salamander or a Baptist *?” 

“Der Yankees vill take you for a prisoner if 
you don’t fly,” cried his wife. “Dey’r cornin’, 
Jonas. Run, run to der woods !” 

Jonas, now thoroughly awake, needed no fur- 
ther urging, but was out the door in a twinkling 
and running through the orchard toward the 
woods. But he had started too late. The sol- 
diers, galloping down the road, espied the “flying 
Dutchman,” and instantly a yell went up from 
among them.’ Tearing down the rail fence, they 
put spurs to their horses and rode in swift pursuit. 
“Halt!” they cried, “Halt!” But Schmidt’s feet 
seemed to take wings. “Snip! Bang!” went 


94 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

two bullets close to his ear. “Whiz! Bang!” 
sang another and another. With a mighty effort 
the Dutchman vaulted the rail fence at the edge 
of the forest and in an instant he was lost to view 
in the woods. On he ran, just as the soldiers 
reached the fence. But they lost time in tearing 
down the rails, and the fugitive gained on them. 
He was almost exhausted, however, for you must 
remember that Jonas was fat and had no wind to 
spare. 

“Lie down, Jonas, lie down,” spoke a voice 
right at his feet, as if it came out of the ground, 
and Jonas, seeing a big brown log, fell beside it 
and crouched down in the dry leaves as close to 
it as possible, wishing with all his might for a 
miracle that would turn him into a lizard or a 
snake. Hearing no Yankees, he opened one eye 
cautiously and peeped out, and there lying almost 
under another log near-by was old Deacon Jones. 

“Py Golly! Py Golly!” ejaculated Jonas, 
panting, his teeth chattering. “Dat vas a close 
shave. Dem pullets played marples all ofer my 
coat-tails.” 

“Hush, don’t speak,” whispered the deacon. 

His warning came none too soon, for a footfall 
was heard right at them and a soldier ran by. 



“The Dutchman vaulted the rail fence” 





CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 97 

searching eagerly, looking behind every large tree. 
Jonas’ heart nearly stopped beating and his hair 
almost stood on end as the Yankee stepped right 
over the log under which he was lying. Surely he 
must see him, if he looked down. But the sol- 
dier was in a hurry and looked straight ahead. 
Finally he gave up the search and turned back 
toward the others, who had started to the house. 

When he had disappeared, both men raised 
their heads cautiously and looked toward the 
house. The blue coats were running in and out 
like ants, and Mrs. Schmidt was standing in the 
yard, with arms folded, grimly looking on, too 
full of anger for utterance. 

Some one passed the word along, and in a mo- 
ment the whole squad started in a body for the 
smoke-house. Finding the door locked, they de- 
manded the key of Mrs. Schmidt and she, know- 
ing resistance to be useless, handed it over, with- 
out a word. When the last man had entered 
the smoke-house Mrs. Schmidt, unnoticed, stepped 
quietly in behind him. 

A few red coals were still glowing on the dirt 
floor, left there from the smoking of the meat a 
few days before, and in one corner was an in- 
verted barrel, on the top of which lay some scat- 


98 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

tered pods of red pepper. Edging stealthily over 
to this corner, Mrs. Schmidt raked up a double 
handful of peppers and put them upon the burn- 
ing coals, then stepping quickly out of the door, 
she closed and locked it. 

Running to the ash-hopper under the fig trees, 
some distance away, she climbed over into it and 
lay on top of the ashes, peering through a crack 
in the plank, convulsed with laughter. 

Soon a mighty commotion began in the smoke- 
house, increasing in violence louder and louder, 
until the din sounded like the roaring of lions. 
The men were coughing, sneezing, and yelling, 
and they were fighting and pounding on the door 
like mad. The smoke-house was tightly built, 
and the door was a stout one of solid plank. 
Soon a nose was poked through a knot-hole in 
the door for a breath of fresh air, and this was 
succeeded by another and another in turn, — fat 
noses, toothpick noses, long noses, short noses, and 
Roman noses, — as their owners fought for a place. 

Mrs. Schmidt rolled in the ash-hopper, hugging 
herself in ecstasy. She had never had so much 
fun in all her life. 

Suddenly the door burst from its fastenings and 
the men rolled out pell-mell into the yard, cough- 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 99 

ing and cursing. With vengeance in their hearts, 
they searched the house and the yard and the 
cellar and the attic, but they could not find the 
object of their wrath. Then mounting their 
horses, they all galloped down the road, sneezing 
and coughing, and with tears streaming from their 
eyes. 

Some time afterward Mrs. Schmidt climbed 
cautiously out of the ash-hopper. Very much di- 
sheveled, and with cramped limbs, she entered one 
door of the kitchen just as Jonas, wild-eyed and 
frightened, tiptoed softly in through the other. 


CHAPTER X 


B en had never been on a deer-hunt in his 
life, and this kind of a hunt, a night hunt, 
appealed to him in many ways. He looked for- 
ward with pleasure to the fun of camping out all 
night and of carrying a, basket of good things to 
eat, for, when an excursion of any kind was to be 
taken, there were always ham sandwiches, boiled 
eggs, fried chicken, gingercake, and jam tarts, — 
one could count on these things. But to carry 
his grandfather’s gun, a double-barreled shotgun, 
was the crowning joy. Uncle Jake was to ac- 
company him, and Ben’s grandmother had ad- 
monished the old man many times to take good 
care of Ben, — to let no accident happen with that 
gun, — just as all good grandmothers do. 

They started just at sundown, walking across 
the orchard toward the forest beyond. Ben car- 
ried the tallow-dip lantern, the lunch basket, and 
the gun, while Uncle Jake shouldered his own 
musket, an ax, and a shovel. As they passed 
under the trees Ben gathered enough juicy fall 
apples to fill the pockets of his jacket. 

100 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS loi 


When they reached the fence he was about to 
climb over as usual, when Uncle Jake yelled at 
him: “Here, boy! You see I’se lettin’ down 
dese bars. Doan’ you go clamberin’ over dat 
fence wid dat gun. Didn’t old Mistiss tell me 
to be keerful ’bout dat gun er de Gunnel’s 

Obeying good-naturedly, Ben went whistling 
through the autumn woods. The trees seemed 
aflame in their dress of scarlet and gold, and the 
pungent smell of burning pine came from some 
spent forest fire beyond. 

“I b’lieve de lick is long here sommers,” said 
Uncle Jake, when they had gone about a mile, 
“fer I done knotched two post oaks a-growin’ by 
a big white rock. Yes, dar hit is.” 

And sure enough a big white rock between two 
large trees formed one side of a leafy dell, where 
they decided to build their tent, as the line of 
salty soil, or rock, at which the deer came to lick, 
lay about fifty yards out in front. It was along 
the edge of a wet weather brook, and in the banks 
were hollows that had been worn away by the deer 
in the passing years. Uncle Jake had at different 
times facilitated matters by mixing a few handfuls 
of salt with the earth along the banks. 

Cutting four stout forked poles. Uncle Jake 


102 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


drove them into the ground, with the forks up- 
ward, across which they laid poles covered with 
tops of pine bushes and loose earth. On the top 
of this pile they built a fire of small pine-knots 
and bits of dry wood. Near-by they put fuel, to 
keep the hre going, which was to attract the at- 
tention of the deer, whose curiosity will cause 
them to seek out a light, no matter how distant. 
Uncle Jake knew all about deer-hunting. 

The rude scaffold was hardly more than three 
feet high — not high enough for either of them to 
stand erect in, and the roof being low, the deer, 
blinded by the light of the hre, would not be able 
to discern the persons in the dark interior. 

Uncle Jake and Ben crawled in, and, seating 
themselves comfortably cross-legged, Turkish 
fashion, opened their basket and ate their supper. 
When they had hnished each laid his gun cocked 
across his knees and began his vigil of the night. 
For a while Ben strained his eyes down toward 
the lick, but no sound came from the darkness 
save the chirp of crickets and the hum of jar-ffies 
and other insects. They dared not speak nor 
move oftener than necessary, for the ears of a 
deer can detect even the slightest sound. At in- 
tervals Uncle Jake would reach out and, carefully 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 103 

lifting a knot of pine, would slowly ease it up to 
the fire above his head. 

It seemed to Ben that three long hours must 
have passed when, on happening to glance toward 
Uncle Jake, he saw that his head had dropped 
forward on his breast and that he was fast asleep. 
Soon he began to snore gently, and Ben was 
aching to give him a kick. 

Another hour passed w’hile Uncle Jake con- 
tinued to snore. 

Suddenly a twig snapped loudly and Ben’s 
heart almost stood still, for there, standing full in 
the light, gazing straight toward them, was a 
deer. It was a splendid one, and Ben felt that 
he could not shoot so magnificent a creature. 
Summoning all his strength, however, he noise- 
lessly lifted his gun, took careful aim, and fired. 
The noise, vibrating through the silent forest, 
sounded like the boom of a cannon, after the long 
stillness. 

“Lord-a-mercy !” yelled Uncle Jake, his cocked 
gun going off like an echo to Ben’s. 

Springing up in affright, he rammed his head 
right through the top of the tent, tearing it down, 
while the red coals, dirt, and pine branches tum- 
bled about them in confusion. Ben quickly ex- 


104 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

tricated himself, and, pulling out the lantern, 
lighted it just as Jake came kicking and splut- 
tering from the other side. 

“ ’Fo’ .de Lawd, Marse Ben ! ’Fo’ de Lawd ! 
Whut’s de matter^” he gasped. 

“Matter?” answered Ben angrily, knocking the 
hre and ashes off his clothes. “Why you slept 
at your post, that’s what you did, and when a big 
buck came up to the lick and I shot him you had 
a nightmare, that’s what.” 

“Did de deer come?” exclaimed old Jake, his 
mouth dropping wide. 

“Yes,” answered Ben, “and I believe I hit him, 
although he turned and ran off down through the 
woods.” 

At that moment Ben set down the lantern and 
began to laugh. The woods echoed and re- 
echoed with peals of laughter. “Uncle Jake!” 
he gasped, “you are a sight. Both your coat-tails 
are gone, — burned off.” And he went off into 
another fit of laughter, rolling on the ground in 
his merriment. 

Jake pulled a very woebegone face, and felt for 
his coat-tails, beating the fire out with his hands. 

“Dey sho is,” he answered dolefully, “an’ dis 
wuz my Sunday-go-ter-meetin’ coat. Hannah 


I 





CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 107 

jes’ would mek me war hit, kese she’s feared I’d 
ketch cold.” 

“Well, come on, let’s go hunt that deer,” said 
Ben. “I know he must be wounded.” 

Swinging the lantern along in front, they be- 
gan to search in the direction that the deer had 
taken in his mad flight. 

“There’s blood on the leaves. Uncle Jake, 
look!” exclaimed Ben. 

And sure enough as they went along they could 
trace the deer’s course by the blood-bespattered 
leaves, and they knew that he had been wounded 
at least. At length Jake, who was in the lead, 
jumped aside quickly with, “Dar he is, Marse 
Ben. Dar he is sho’ !” And there, under a 
clump of bushes, lay the deer. Old Jake had 
almost run onto him in the darkness. Ben was 
almost beside himself with joy. 

“How in the world will we get him home. 
Uncle Jake*?” he said. 

“I tell you what, Marse Ben,” proposed Jake, 
“you stay here to g’yard de deer, an’ I’ll go home 
an’ fotch ole Button, an’ we’ll let dis venison 
ride home.” 

Now, many boys of twelve would have been 
frightened at the thought of remaining alone in 


io8 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


the forest at night, but not Ben. His heart was 
full of pride and he felt himself growing greater 
every instant. He watched Uncle Jake trotting 
off with the lantern and wondered what they 
would say at home when he reached there with 
the news. Uncle Jake was almost as proud of 
Ben as the boy was of himself. 

Ben remained at his post, still too full of ex- 
altation to feel afraid. Passing his hands over 
the deer’s antlers, he started back in alarm, for he 
thought he saw a perceptible movement of one of 
its legs. What if it should come to life and at- 
tack him? He had heard of such things. He 
ran his hand down his gun and cocked it. Well, 
let him move and start to rise, he would be ready 
for him. But the deer lay quite still. 

After a while he saw the gleam of the lantern 
through the trees, and heard old Jake’s familiar 
‘‘Hello-o-o !” He put his hands to his mouth 
and answered with a “Whopee!” 

Soon the old darky came up, leading Button, 
and together they lifted the deer to the back of 
the horse, and, strapping it securely, started for 
home. Uncle Jake walking by the side to hold the 
deer, and Ben leading Button and carrying the 
lantern. Any other horse in the stables would 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 109 

have been frightened to bear such a burden, and 
no doubt would have run away; but Button had 
perfect confidence in Jake. 

The whole household was up and astir when 
they reached home, although it was barely day- 
break, and such a fuss they made over the size of 
the deer and over Ben’s wonderful marksmanship. 
But Ben was waiting for one person in particular, 
and when he saw her hurrying down the steps he 
ran to her, and, throwing both arms around her, 
he cried: “Grandmother, grandmother, I did it! 
I did it with grandfather’s gun !” 


CHAPTER XI 


J ERRY sat in the window of his room enjoy- 
ing the evening breeze. It was about nine 
o’clock, but the negroes in the quarters were 
making the night merry with their wild dancing 
and singing. They were not near enough to dis- 
turb the inmates of the big house, but now and 
then the twang of banjos and snatches of song 
could be clearly heard. Just now the voices came 
on the breeze: 

“Ole Dan Tucker wuz er mean ole soul, 

“He whipped his wife wid er fishen’ pole. 

“Clear de way fer ole Dan Tucker, 

“You too late ter eat yo’ supper.” 


The perfume of jessamine filled the air. How 
peaceful seemed the world so far from the scenes 
of battle. Before another balmy night dire tid- 
ings might come from the front, bringing sorrow 
to this happy Southern home. 

All these thoughts were in Jerry’s mind as he 
turned from the window to retire. When he 
leaned out to close the blinds the moon was be- 


IIO 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS in 


ginning to rise and through a broad gap in the 
trees on the hill it shone full upon a cotton field, 
making it gleam like a blanket of snow. Jerry 
thought he had never seen a prettier sight. Blow- 
ing out the candle, he was soon asleep. Very 
shortly something awoke him, he could not tell 
what. He must have dreamed that he heard a 
tapping at the window. Half asleep he turned 
over on the pillow and drowsily he heard the 
darkies’ voices: 

“Ole Dan Tucker he got drunk, 

“He fell in de fire, an’ he kicked up er chunk, 

“Clear de way — ” 


And once more he was fast asleep. 

Again he was awakened, and this time he sat 
up in bed and listened. Once more there came 
on his window blind a “tap-tap, tap-tap,” like the 
noise of a woodpecker. Jumping out of bed, he 
went over to the window and asked, “Who’s 
there?” 

A soft guttural voice answered, “Chineabee.” 

“Why, what’s the matter, Chineabee?” he 
asked. 

“Somebody diggin’ for box in graveyard on 
hill,” was the answer. 


112 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


'‘Who? White man or black?” asked Jerry, 
reaching for his clothes in the dark at the same 
time. 

"Two nigger, — Irvine one,” the Indian an- 
swered. 

"Great guns ! I wonder how many more saw 
me bury that box,” exclaimed Jerry. "How 
did you know it was there, Chineabee?” 

Jerry was now quite awake. 

"Big Indian ’possum-huntin’. Pass by grave- 
yard. See you plant it. Say nothin’. Indian 
no tell,” he said. 

"Well, if I don’t scare the daylight out of two 
sons of Ham, I’ll most,” said Jerry. 

Taking a sheet from the bed, he cut a large rent 
in the center of it with his knife. Snatching the 
white case from a pillow, he cut four small holes 
in one side of it. Then gathering them in a 
bundle under his arm, he took from his bureau 
a long pistol and handed another to Chineabee 
through the window. The Indian shook his head, 
and, pointing to his belt, showed that he was 
already armed. 

"Good,” said Jerry, and slipping out the door 
he joined the old chief, and the two went trotting 
along, half-bent, by the fence. 





“Somebody diggin’ for box in graveyard on hill” 





CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 115 

'‘What were you doing out to-night, Chinea- 
bee?” asked Jerry, as they hurried along. 

“See Irvine hiden’ in woods before sun go 
down. Indian keep watch Miss Elmore’s house. 
Him sit in dark behind smoke-house under walnut 
tree.” 

“You are a good friend, Chineabee,” said Jerry. 

They were nearing the quarters and a broad 
light from the cabins gleamed right across their 
path. There was no time to lose; so, lying flat, 
they crawled quickly across, through the grass. 
The negroes were singing loudly; the noise of 
their dancing feet sounded like a thresher. 

“Balmoral, ladies, balmoral ! Swing yo’ yaller balmoral !” 

The moon was getting dangerously high, and 
Jerry knew that they must hurry. The thieves 
in the graveyard knew this, too, and were digging 
fast. 

The pines were so thick that the moonlight 
could hardly filter through, and Jerry and Chinea- 
bee glided from tree to tree until they were within 
ten feet of the negroes. One was a stranger and 
wore a Yankee uniform. They were digging a 
short distance from the spot where Jerry had 
buried the box, but they had tried a number of 


ii6 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


places unsuccessfully, as the torn-up ground 
around showed. 

Jerry quickly donned the sheet and pulled the 
pillow-case over his head. Then, knowing that 
an Indian can usually imitate the call of any bird, 
he whispered to Chineabee to give the screech- 
owl’s cry. The quavering call coming suddenly 
so close at hand, both negroes dropped their 
spades and glanced about. 

As their faces were half turned, listening, Jerry 
slowly glided from the tree, with hands extended, 
and moaning low and solemnly. Throwing their 
arms wildly in the air, the negroes uttered a yell 
that echoed through the grove. For a moment 
they struggled, falling, rolling over each other, 
and fighting each other in their efforts to get away. 
Another instant and they were running like mad 
through the woods, with Jerry close behind, the 
latter every now and then emitting an unearthly 
groan. They fell into ditches and tumbled over 
fences, tearing their clothes and bruising their 
shins. Irvine, in his panic, headed for the quar- 
ters, with the strange negro at his heels. The 
banjos were twanging still, but most of the ne- 
groes had gone outside their cabins for a breath 
of fresh air and a moment’s rest. 






A 



CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 119 

Suddenly the quarters were thrown into the 
wildest confusion. The air was filled with 
screams and moans and calls for help, mingled 
with the banging of doors and the slamming down 
of windows. Chairs were overturned in the fight 
for right-of-way as Irvine, with his partner of the 
night, tore through the long lane of the quarters, 
like a fiery comet, yelling at every breath, and pur- 
sued by the white phantom. 

Old Jake, sitting in front of his cabin, with his 
straight chair propped back against the wall, 
smoking as usual, was knocked sprawling on his 
stomach, and both fugitives pitched headlong over 
the chair. Jerry, just behind, was running so 
fast he could not stop himself, so he too fell over 
them and mixed up in the general melee, adding 
more to their terror. 

They had hardly touched the ground, though, 
before they were up and away again, with Jerry 
close behind. As they turned the corner of a 
cabin like a cyclone they passed old Napoleon, 
who was coming down to see what the noise was. 
He so far forgot his dignity as to fall upon his 
all-fours and go running in this fashion straight 
into a low chicken-house, plump into the hens, 
who set up a fearful squawking and cackling and 


120 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


flew out, scattering in all directions, and pande- 
monium reigned supreme. 

Candles were instantly snuffed out, leaving 
everything in darkness. 

Tired out with the chase, Jerry snatched off his 
disguise, and, taking a short cut back through the 
fields, he found the Indian where he had left him, 
carefully shoveling the dirt back into the holes. 
The former was panting so for breath and was so 
convulsed with laughter that he lay flat on the 
ground to rest and give vent to his mirth, while 
Chineabee raked the leaves and smoothed the 
ground, occasionally giving a grunt or a chuckle 
of appreciation. After a while the two started 
home in different directions, Jerry having thanked 
the old chief warmly for his kind service of the 
night. 

As Jerry reached his room he noticed that the 
quarters were as dark and silent as the grave, but 
it was past midnight before he could compose him- 
self to sleep. 

The next morning the wildest excitement pre- 
vailed among the negroes. They, one and all, 
believed that it was the devil himself who had 
chased some benighted sinner right through the 
quarters under their very noses. Some thought 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 121 


they had recognized Irvine, and believed that just 
retribution had at last overtaken him. 

As each rendered his version of the night’s af- 
fair it reached alarming proportions. One said 
the “Hant” was twenty feet tall and had long 
horns and a fiery tail; others, that it rolled along 
like a bale of cotton and moaned like the wind. 

But Jerry was satisfied that the valuables 
would be safe in the graveyard after that night. 


CHAPTER XII 


F or several days the children had been much 
elated over the news that the sorghum- 
makers were on their way to The Meadows, with 
their presser and boiling-pans, to make up the 
year’s supply of syrup. Their coming was 
awaited each year by the young people on the 
plantation with happiest anticipation, for it 
usually meant a candy-pulling and a night of 
revelry. All day the negroes would be busy cut- 
ting the juicy ribbon-cane and loading the wagons 
in the fields, and the children would ride on top 
of the loads as they were being driven down to 
the spring grove and piled high in stacks, ready to 
be crushed and made into syrup. 

Early one morning a great lumbering and scrap- 
ing was heard on the main road, and the twins 
ran in, dancing and clapping their hands, for the 
big machines of the sorghum-makers were coming. 
There were busy times then at The Meadows. 
The mill and the pans were soon placed and the 
syrup-making began. 

The fence around the shady spring grove was 
122 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 123 

alive with little negroes, watching the proceed- 
ings, while Barney and Bessie darted about in high 
glee, running errands or playing with the dogs. 

Round and round in a circle the mules tramped, 
turning the grinders, which were two shining steel 
columns that revolved so close together that the 
long stalks of cane were pressed dry as they passed 
between them, and the juice poured into vessels 
beneath. It kept two negroes busy feeding the 
press with the stalks of cane, while others rode 
the mules, cracking their whips and calling loudly 
to one another, or singing as they rode. 

In another part of the grove was placed the 
boiling-pan, which was almost as large as the bed 
of a wagon, shallow, and with broad grooves run- 
ning lengthwise, through which the molasses ran 
and boiled in a seething mass. At the end was 
an engine, or boiler stove, which furnished the 
heat. On either side of the pan stood men, with 
bright long-handled shovels, dipping and pouring 
the sticky mass, while others fed the fire in the 
engine. The foam was dipped off into buckets, 
and this was carried to the house by the children 
to be made into candy. 

Mrs. Elmore had promised them their annual 
candy-pulling, but warned them not to expect 


124 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

the heretofore bountiful supper. She suggested 
that they make a quantity of apple cider, and she 
would have Aunt Nora bake some of her famous 
gingerbread and pound cake to serve with it. 

They gaily agreed to this, and while Jerry, on 
horseback, delivered the invitations, which had 
been written by the cousins, they gathered the 
fall apples, filling baskets and carrying them to 
the cider mill, which stood under a shed in the 
barnyard. There, with the assistance of the little 
darkies, Flem and Nero, they worked faithfully 
all the morning until they had several jugs of de- 
licious cider. When Jerry returned he helped 
them to roll the jugs in wheelbarrows down to 
the spring-house. 

As they went along Bessie kept teasing Jerry 
for just one more taste. Squeezing Barney’s arm, 
she said: “Oh, Barney, I jes’ can’t wait till to- 
night for some of that gingerbread and cider. I 
feels ticklish all over when I thinks about it.” 

“Bessie,” answered her twin seriously, “if you 
keep tastin’ and er tastin’, nuffin’ll taste like itself 
to-night, and you’ll jes’ have to sit and watch me 
eat.” At this appalling thought Bessie subsided. 

When they reached the spring-house they sank 
the jugs almost to the necks in the brook that ran 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 125 

through the house. The water was as cold as ice, 
and here and there, half immersed in the stream, 
were jars of buttermilk and crocks of cream. The 
interior of the house was painted white, and a low 
shelf ran around the sides, with the water lapping 
the edges. On the shelves were blue covered 
bowls of sweet yellow butter and baskets of fresh 
eggs. 

By candlelight that evening the children were 
dressed and fluttering about excitedly. Ben was 
the proud possessor of a pair of new shoes that 
creaked as he walked, and that had cost $17.50, 
for shoes were a luxury now, and Confederate 
money had begun to decrease alarmingly in value. 
Barney’s suit fitted him, as Jerry expressed it, 
“rather quick,” for it was two seasons old, but, 
as it had been sponged and pressed, it looked sur- 
prisingly new. His shoes had been mended, half- 
soled, and blacked by Uncle Jake till he could 
almost see himself in them, so altogether he looked 
something of a dandy. Bessie fared better than 
the rest. Her slippers were almost new, her white 
dress had needed only a ruffle to lengthen it, and 
she had been presented by Cousin Ala with a new 
sash and a ribbon for her curls. 

Torches and tar kegs were lighted in the grove, 


126 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


and the guests began to arrive on horseback, in 
carriages, and even in wagons. Young and old 
came, and soon little children and grandmothers 
were pulling candy side by side. 

After a while the moon came up over the hills, 
bathing the grove in mellow light, and the chil- 
dren darted about like fairies among the trees and 
the flowers. The girls, in their thin muslin 
dresses, were chatting together in groups, with 
their arms about one another, for there was a 
dearth of beaux, as their sweethearts, you remem- 
ber, were all gone to war. How sweet came the 
breath of the honeysuckle and the mimosa. A 
mocking-bird broke into song in the tall magnolia. 

Servants moved about, passing trays of cake 
and glasses of cold cider. 

At last, the candy having all been pulled, most 
of the guests went into the house to have some 
music. Many of the girls had good voices and 
a number of old favorites were sung. Then 
some one proposed a Virginia reel, which met with 
instant approval. 

Three of the best players were brought in from 
the quarters, with their banjos, and all the young 
people took their places. Dr. Murray was to 
“call out.” Just as he sang out, “Salute your 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 127 

partners!” the gallop of horses’ feet was heard 
almost at the very door, and, as the party stood 
in position all ready for the dance, the parlors 
were quickly filled with Yankee soldiers. 

They were led by a handsome young officer, 
who bowed very low to the ladies and apologized 
for their intrusion, saying, “We saw the lights and 
heard the music, and we could not resist the im- 
pulse to come in.” 

At once he was recognized as the captain who 
had figured in Bessie’s martin-box affair and who, 
with his comrades, had guarded the premises the 
same afternoon. He gave his name and those 
of his men present, saying that they were a small 
detachment going across country to join their com- 
pany. At first Mrs. Elmore was indignant, but 
as she looked at the young fellow in command her 
heart smote her, for she thought of her own dear 
grandson far away and perhaps lonely that night. 
Although they were enemies they were some 
mother’s boys and were, perhaps, homesick too. 
Not one of them seemed over twenty-one, and 
they were very courteous. 

Turning swiftly, the guests were surprised to 
hear her order the servants to bring more cider 
and cake, which she offered to the soldiers. They 


128 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


thanked her warmly and declared they had tasted 
nothing so excellent since they had come into 
Dixie. 

Then the young soldiers begged the girls to con- 
tinue the dance and let them act as partners. 
Many of the girls, however, feeling that they 
would be disloyal to the South, indignantly re- 
fused and very haughtily left the room at the 
“very presumption of a Yankee!” But several, 
in a spirit of mischief, agreed, and Fannie, having 
now, it seemed, overcome her timidity at the sight 
of blue coats, walked to the end of the room with 
the young commanding officer and, bowing low 
to each other, they proceeded to lead off the dance. 

“And so you never expected to see me again 
he asked. But Fannie only tossed her head and 
made no reply. 

“I know very little of this Southern dance,” he 
whispered to her. 

“I will teach you,” she answered. “Watch 
me.” 

“I could wish for no fairer teacher,” he said, 
as, with hands held high, they turned in the dance. 

“We may teach you something besides dancing. 
Sir Knight, before this war is over,” she answered 
saucily. 








CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 131 

“And that he questioned, smiling. 

“We may teach you to run,” she said, with 
flushed cheeks and eyes shining. He laughed out 
loud as he' swung his vis-a-vis, but before he could 
answer there was a shout outside and a soldier 
burst into the room, crying: “The rebels! The 
rebels !” 

It was a novel cry at The Meadows. Hereto- 
fore it had always been: “The Yankees! The 
Yankees !” 

Every man left his partner and made for the 
door. 

The officer with Fannie lingered long enough 
to say to her, “You spoke truer than you 
thought.” 

Then he hurried away, and she called mock- 
ingly to him, “Run, run !” 

“Oh, I’m doing that fast enough,” he called 
back from the door, “but I’ll get even yet.” 

They had scarcely gotten out of the grove and 
down the road before a squad of grey coats came 
galloping past the gate in hot pursuit. The cry 
of “Halt!” rang out down the road again and 
again, and then a fusillade of shots, but the fugi- 
tives did not heed. Away around the bend they 
went, pursued and pursuers, flying like the wind, 


132 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


and the watchers at The Meadows could hear the 
beat of hoofs growing fainter and fainter, then 
die away altogether. 

The guests on the piazza and in the grove stood 
talking excitedly, or conversing in awestruck 
voices. After a while some one at the gate 
called, “Listen, they are coming back!” and soon 
the whole party of Confederates came riding up. 
As they turned into the big gate Ben, sitting on 
the gate post, gave a war-whoop, tumbling off in 
his excitement. 

“It’s brother George ! It’s brother George ! 
Hurrah ! Whoopee !” 

The next instant Mrs. Elmore was clasped 
close in the arms of her grandson. 

“Grandmother,” he laughed breathlessly, “we 
didn’t wish to give you a scare and break up the 
party. We were passing from an excursion some 
miles distant, and, being that near home, the de- 
sire to see you and the children was more than I 
could stand. And when we learned from a scout 
of the party of the arrival of the Yankees, why, 
we had to come.” 

He introduced his friends, though some were 
well known to everybody present, and the servants 
hastened out for another supply of refreshments. 

Fannie’s nervousness could not be longer con- 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 133 

trolled, and, getting George aside, she asked if 
any of the Yankees had been killed or wounded. 

“No,” he answered, “they were just out of 
range of our fire, and ride as hard as we might, 
we saw that further pursuit would be useless.” 

He wondered at the look of relief that crossed 
her face, but the twang of banjos sounded just 
then in a rollicking tune. They all took their 
places again and the dance which had been so 
rudely interrupted progressed with much merri- 
ment, although the partners of the girls had 
changed, and where an hour before they were 
gaily swung by boys in blue they now bowed 
gracefully to their own bonnie lads in grey. 

’Twas after midnight when the guests departed. 
George had found a quiet moment to slip away 
and talk with his grandmother and to answer 
dozens of questions from the children. 

Reluctantly the cavalrymen said good-bye to 
the girls, and, swinging into their saddles, they 
rode away into the night, singing an old Southern 
song, their voices blending well in the chorus: 


“Darling Chloe, darling Chloe, 

“Your sweet face I soon shall see, I know; 
“When the Southern sunny breeze 
“Fans the old palmetto trees 
“I am going home to see my darling Chloe.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


A ll day long the rain had swept down in 
gusts and beat a tattoo on the window- 
panes. Barney, with his nose pressed flat against 
the glass, was watching the little rivulets running 
from the gutters, and Bessie was lying on the big 
rug before the blazing fire, with her elbows prop- 
ping her chin on her hands, reading Robinson 
Crusoe. 

Flinging away the book, she joined Barney at 
the window, where for a time they blew their 
hot breath upon the glass and with their fingers 
drew fantastic pictures for amusement; but Twas 
plainly seen that the twins were getting restless, 
and must shortly have an outlet for their over- 
flowing spirits. Suddenly Barney suggested, 
“Let’s go to the weaving rooms and get Mammy 
Hannah to tell us a story.” Bessie agreed 
promptly. She always agreed to Barney’s 
schemes, though usually it was Bessie who was 
the quicker to propose. They were generally of 
one mind and seldom quarreled. The weaving 
house was a double log house, each room twenty 
134 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 135 

feet square, with a greatl stone chimney in the 
center. Very soon two little figures went tripping 
along the flat foot-log that ran from the house out 
to the weaving rooms, with their arms about each 
other, and holding over their heads a very dilapi- 
dated umbrella. 

Opening the door quickly, they bounced in 
without ceremony, making the half dozen colored 
girls at the looms jump at their sudden entrance. 
The girls were weaving a counterpane and the 
noise of the looms filled the room, so the twins 
did not tarry there, but hurried into the next room 
where, before a glowing fire of logs, sat Mammy 
Hannah, carding vigorously. Dilcie stood near 
at the spinning-wheel, which sang a cozy accom- 
paniment to the rain outside. Uncle Jake re- 
clined in a split-bottomed chair on the other side 
of the hearth, his feet stretched out to the blaze, 
doing absolutely nothing but smoking his cob pipe. 
As the children entered, Dilcie exclaimed, “Whut 
devilment is you two twinses up to now^? ” 

“Nothing,” answered Bessie. “We’re awful 
good, really.” 

“Dar now,” grunted old Jake, knocking his 
pipe on the andirons. “Den look out fer sumpen 
ter happen.” 


136 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

But Bessie was busy making herself comforta- 
ble in a broken chair, while Barney dragged up a 
three-legged stool and seated himself close to his 
old Mammy. Laying his head on her knee, he 
said: “Mammy, we want you to tell us a tale. 
We’re lonesome.” 

“Tell us about Waucomaco,” quickly inter- 
posed Bessie. 

“Honey, I’se done telled dat tale ter so many 
chillun tell my tongue nearly draps off er tellin’,” 
objected Mammy, “and youenses knows hit by 
heart.” 

“We don’t care, it’s the best one of all,” they 
insisted. 

Mammy Hannah • laid both her cards filled 
with wool on a near-by bench, adjusted the blue 
bandanna tighter about her head, and began : 

“Onct, er long time ergo — ” 

“Wait, Mammy, wait,” cried Bessie. Barney 
had already climbed on one knee, and Bessie 
scrambled to the other, while Mammy gathered 
them both in her strong arms and pillowed their 
heads on her ample bosom. 

“Lawdy mussy,” she grumbled, “dese chillun 
gwine ter set in dey ole Mammy’s lap tell dey 
feets drag on de flo’.” But she seemed very 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 137 

pleased to have them there, and hugged them to 
her as she spoke. 

It was growing dark outside, and as the hickory 
logs fell apart a shower of sparks flew up the 
chimney, lighting up the big room with a warm 
bright glow. Just then the quavering, piteous 
cry of a screech-owl sounded in the branches of 
the walnut tree outside. Mammy Hannah spilled 
the twins out of her lap and reached down for her 
shoe. Snatching it off, she laid it upside down 
on the hearth. Simultaneously old Jake turned 
both trouser pockets wrong side out, scattering 
bits of tobacco, nails, and horn buttons over the 
floor, while Dilcie thrust the shovel into the fire. 
The three then resumed their interrupted occupa- 
tions as if this was all a natural and ordinary pro- 
ceeding. 

Having gathered the children once more on her 
lap. Mammy began: “Onct, a long time ergo, 
dere wuz er little blue-eyed gal jes’ lak Bessie, 
’cept she had yaller hair, an’ er little blue-eyed 
boy lak Barney; an’ dey wuz lef’ all by deyse’ves 
in er great big house. Dey ma an’ dey pa had 
done died an’ lef’ ’um. Well, one night when 
dey wuz setten’ all by demse’ves, an’ de fire wuz 
purty nigh out, er monstrous big rat run right 


138 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

’cross de flo, in front uv ’um. Hit were powerful 
big, but dey didn’t pay no ’tendon ter hit dat 
time ; but purty soon hit run ergin. 

“ ‘Did you see dat, sister de little boy sez, 
sezze. An’ his sister said she did. ‘If hit runs 
ergin. I’m gwine ter burn dis here house up !’ 

“Atter while, sho’ ’nough hit run ergin, an’ de 
little boy up an’ tuck er match, he did, an’ sez as 
how he wuz gwine ter burn de house down. De 
little gal axed him not ter do dat, an’ den she ’gin 
ter cry, too, but, bless yer, he jes’ done hit any- 
how. Den dar dey wuz, out in de cold an’ no 
house over dey heads. Course hit were de Bad 
Man whut put hit inter de little boy’s head ter 
do dat, de very Ole Boy hisse’f. 

“Den de little boy saw whut he’d done, an’ he 
felt sorry, so he brace hisse’f up, he did, an’ he say, 
‘I ain’t gwine ter be wicked no more, little sister. 
I’m gwine ter take kere uv you!’ Wid dat he 
tuck his sister’s han’, an’ dey marched right along 
out uv de town. Dey went, an’ went, an’ went, 
an’ atter a while dey come ter some big dark 
woods; an’ when dey got in dar’ hit wuz so dark 
dat dey could sca’cely see dey ban’s befo’ ’um. 
Dey met a boy an’ axed him whut wuz de matter ; 
but he jes’ said ‘Sh,’ an’ went on. Den dey axed 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 139 

another little boy, an’ den another; but dey all 
said, 'Sh! sh!’ 

‘‘But purty soon dey met a lady an’ axed her. 
De lady whispered to ’um ter come wid her, an’ 
she tuck ’um ter her house, an’ way back in er 
closet she set ’um down, an’ shet de do’. ' Den 
she whispered easy lak an’ sez, sez she: ‘A big 
ole black bird rules here. Dis is his Ian’, an’ he 
won’t let hit git light, ’caze he say folks would 
all be too happy an’ wouldn’t work an’ serve him.’ 

“ ‘But how does yer know when ter git up an’ 
go ter bed‘?’ axed de little gal. 

“ ‘Well,’ sez de lady, sez she, ‘whenever hit’s 
time ter git up er go ter bed, he sets up on de 
high tower an’ sings: 


“‘“Who cum' diddleum atdedo? 

““‘Who cum' diddleum atdedo? 

“ ‘ “Hereshecumeco ; hereshecumeco 
“ ‘ “Cum diddleum atdedo !’ ” 

“ ‘But,’ sez she, ‘if he wuz ter hear anybody 
mockin’ him, he’d kill ’um dat minute. He done 
giv dat out.’ 

“De little boy axed de lady ter let ’em stay 
dere an’ sleep over whut dey called de night, an’ 
she said dey could. She giv ’um er room wid er 


140 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

great big bed in hit, wid four tall postes an’ er 
yaller teester. Hit had a high foot-board whut 
had wooden lions on each side. Dey lay down, 
dey did, an’ de little boy git out his pocket-knife 
an’ ’gin sharpenin’ hit on his shoe. 

“ ‘Whut you doin’, brother^’ axed de little gal. 

“ ‘Jes’ sharpenin’ my knife, sister, jes’ sharp- 
enin’ my knife.’ 

“Purty soon dey heerd de ole bird in de tower 
singin’ : 

“ ‘Who cum diddleum’ atdedo? 

“‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo? 

“ ‘Hereshecumcco ; hereshecumeco 

“‘Cum diddleum atdedo?^ 

Little Boy — Bird an octave lower. 








Who cum did - die - e - um at de do? 




PS 


lY-=^ 


-m~. # 0—. #-r 


Who cum did -die - e- um at de do? 








Here she cum - e - co, here she cum - e - co 




i 






Cum did - die -e - um at de do! 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 141 

“De little boy sot up in de bed, he did, an’ 
listen, an’ den he ’gun ter mock him an’ sing: 

“‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo? 

“‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo? 

“ ‘Hereshecumeco ; hereshecumeco 

“ ‘Cum diddleum atdedo !’ 

“De ole bird picked up his years an’ listen. 
‘Who dat dar mockin’ me^’ he sez. He wuz mad 
ez Tucker, an’ he flewed on de chimlev of de 
house next to de one whar de chillun wuz in, 
an’ he sez, sezze : 

“ ‘Who cum diddleum’ atdedo ? 

“‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo? 

“ ‘Hereshecumeco ; hereshecumeco 

“ ‘Cum diddleum atdedo !’ 

“An’ de little boy he up an’ sings sassylike: 

“‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo? 

“ ‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo ? 

“ ‘Hereshecumeco ; hereshecumeco 

“ ‘Cum diddleum atdedo !’ 

“Jehoshaphat ! De ole bird wuz mad. He 
flewed right down in er tree by de house an’ sung : 

“‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo? 

“‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo? 

“ ‘Hereshecumeco ; hereshecumeco 

“ ‘Cum diddleum atdedo !’ 


142 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

“Den de little boy sung back at him right big- 
gitty: 

“ ‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo ? 

“‘Who cum diddleum atdedo? 

“ ‘Hereshecumeco ; hereshecumeco 

“ ‘Cum diddleum atdedo !’ 

'' 'Oh, brother!’ de little gal said, 'please don’t 
mock de bird. V lease ^ please don’t.’ 

"But de little boy sez, 'Don’t you be af eared, 
little sister!’ 

"Den de bird ruffle up his feathers an’ flewed 
down on de winder-sill an’ sing: 


“‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo? 

“‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo? 

: “‘Hereshecumeco; hereshecumeco 

“‘Cum diddleum atdedo!’ 

"An’ de little boy look right at him an’ sing 
back: 


“‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo? 

“ ‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo ? 

“ ‘Hereshecumeco ; hereshecumeco 
“‘Cum diddleum atdedo!’ 


"De big bird wuz mad as pizen, he wuz, an’ 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 143 

he flewed in de berry room an’ lit right on de 
foot uv de bed on one uv de lions, an’ he lif his 
long neck up an’ sing: 

“‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo? 

“‘Who cum diddleum atdedo? 

“ ‘Hereshecumeco ; hereshecumeco 
“‘Cum diddleum atdedo!’ 


“An’ de little boy look him in de eye an’ sing 
right back: ^ 

“‘Who cum diddleum’ atdedo? 

“‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo? 

“ ‘Hereshecumeco ; hereshecumeco 
‘“Cum diddleum atdedo!’ 


“De little gal hollered, she did, an’ kivered 
up her head, she wuz so skeered. Now, all de 
time de bird wuz a-cummin’ de little boy had been 
er-sharpenin’ his knife, tell it wuz jes’ lak er 
razor. 

“De- ole bird wuz so outdone an’ mad, he flap 
his wings togedder an’ jes’ roar\ 


“ ‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo ? 
“‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo? 

“ ‘Hereshecumeco ; hereshecumeco 
“ ‘Cum diddleum atdedo !’ 


144 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

‘'Den de little boy shuck his hs’ at him, he did, 
an’ sing out loud: 

“ ‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo ? 

“‘Who cum diddleum' atdedo? 

“ ‘Hereshecumeco ; hereshecumeco 
“ ‘Cum diddleum atdedo !’ 


“Dis time de ole bird had enough, an’ he come 
closer and closer; an’ he flapped right down an’ 
grabbed de little boy! But de little boy wuz 
ready fer him, an’ he wuzn’t skeered. Dey fit 
an’ dey fit, an’ dey clawed an’ bite an’ dey 
scratched; an’ all at onct de little boy tuck his 
knife an’ chop de ole bird’s head off, an’ kilt ’im 
dead. 

“Den, lo an’ behole, hit ’gun to git light. De 
chickens ’gun ter crow an’ de birds sung. All de 
waggins an’ buggies rolled out uv de sheds an’ 
rattled erlong. All de people commenced ter 
laugh an’ sing an’ dance. < 

“ ‘Who kilt de king-bird'? Who kilt de big 
bird?’ dey all axed. 

“Atter a while dey come ter de house whar de 
little boy an’ his sister wuz; an’ de little boy tole 
’um he kilt de big bird, an’ he showed ’um his 
big ole black body layin’ dar. Den dey all re- 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 145 

joiced an’ shouted, an’ dey said de little boy could 
have anything he wanted. He tole ’um he wanted 
jes’ three things, — er whip, an’ er ball uv cord, 
an’ two slices uv bread an’ butter. 

“Dey gin ’um ter him, dey did, an’ he tuck ’um, 
an’ den he led his little sister by de han’ an’ dey 
went out uv de city. When dey got out in de 
country, de little boy tuck de cord an’ belt on ter 
one en’ while he throwed de ball way up in de 
sky, an’ hit cotch on de clouds. 

“Den he tole his little sister ter foller him, an’ 
he ’gun climein’ de string. Dey dimed an’ dey 
dimed, an’ de little boy would pop his whip an’ 
hit would make de lightenin’ shoot about an’ de 
thunder rattle ; an’ dat parted de clouds an’ lighted 
de way fer ’um. At last dey clum clean up ter 
Heaben, an’ de big gole doors opened, dey did, an’ 
dey went in, an’ dere wuz dey ma an’ pa.” 

Here Mammy’s voice crooned sleepily to a 
whisper. The sound of the looms had ceased, 
and the wind outside had calmed. The drip, 
drip, from the eaves was the only sound. Dilcie’s 
spinning-wheel sat back in the corner, and Uncle 
Jake nodded by the smouldering fire. His pipe 
had gone out and lay on his lap, with the ashes 
spilled on the hearth. The children were both 


146 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

in a reverie, their eyes on the dying coals, and 
Mammy’s brown cheek rested gently on the little 
girl’s curly head. 


CHAPTER XIV 


H arvest time had come. The winds blew 
cool and sweet with the odor of the pines; 
the sumach bushes were all aflame, and the purple 
grapes hung ripe and tempting, while all day long 
the cheery call of “B-o-b W-h-i-t-e,” — “B-o-b 
W-h-i-t-e,” — was heard near the woodlands and 
about the fields. 

Many of the negroes had run away from the 
plantation, — only the reliable, faithful ones 
stayed, and a number of mules and horses had 
been sold to obtain money and save expense; so 
only a part of the plantation was now in cultiva- 
tion. 

The children rode home on loads of yellow 
corn, which was stored in the big barns. The 
threshers were busy threshing the wheat, and on 
the morrow Jerry was to carry a wagon-load to 
Montevallo to be ground into flour. This would 
mean a three or four days’ trip, and the boys, 
Barney and Ben, pleaded with their grandmother 
to let them go with him, which she finally con- 
147 


148 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

sen ted to do. Nero, too, was allowed to go, to 
help Jerry with the mules. 

The boys could hardly wait for morning to 
break, and were up when the first light of dawn 
appeared, while Aunt Nora bustled about in the 
kitchen, preparing their breakfast by candlelight. 
Mrs. Elmore and Bessie were down too, arranging 
a basket of eatables for them to take, for they 
were to camp out at night. 

Fresh eggs, a bowl of butter, a jar of meal, 
salt and sugar, and ham and bacon were being 
carefully packed. 

The boys scarcely tasted breakfast, so elated 
were they over the coming trip and the prospect 
of camping out. They were to go in a covered 
spring- wagon, drawn by four strong mules. The 
wagon was loaded with the sacks of wheat, and 
underneath was tied securely bundles of fodder 
for the mules, buckets for water, a coffee-pot, 
and a frying-pan for cooking their meals. 

No wonder the boys were in high glee. 

Inside the wagon was water-proof and dry, 
for the cover was of double thickness, and a sheet 
of oilcloth was carried as an additional protection 
in case of a heavy thunder-storm. Jerry had 
been working for a week, fashioning a tent out of 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 149 

two old wagon sheets, and this was folded and 
laid over the sacks of wheat. 

Dr. Murray came riding up just as the wagon 
was being loaded, and, calling to Jerry, handed 
him some money, with the request that he buy 
as much good whiskey with it as it would pay 
for. He needed the whiskey for medicinal use 
among his patients. 

At last all was in readiness. The boys kissed 
their grandmother good-bye and climbed into the 
wagon. Jerry gathered up the reins, and at the 
crack of the whip the four mules started off 
briskly, with Jerry’s spotted bulldog trotting along 
under the wagon. 

Bessie ran to an up-stairs window and waved 
to them as long as she could see them. 

The boys were joyously happy, and they talked 
and laughed excitedly. Pretending that they 
were pioneers traveling westward, they named 
themselves the “Sons of Daniel Boone.” 

The morning was fine. The birds caroled in 
the lanes, or flew, chattering in groups, to the rail 
fence corners. A light breeze had sprung up, 
tossing the elderbushes and goldenrod along the 
way. Soon they left the familiar landmarks of 
their own plantation, then those of their neigh- 


150 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

bors, and after a while they were traveling over 
roads unknown to them. At noon they halted at 
a spring by the roadside, ate their lunch, and 
rested under the shade of the trees. 

After watering the mules they started again on 
their journey. When it began to grow dark 
Jerry looked for the first brook that ran across the 
road and followed its course into the woods until 
he found a littfe spring, running from under the 
rocks. Here they decided to spend the night. 
Nero and Ben unhitched and fed the mules, while 
Jerry cut poles and put up the tent. Barney 
raked the ground clean inside and covered the 
dirt floor with pine needles and balsam. Over 
this he spread a big red coverlet; then he helped 
Jerry build the camp-fire. 

They were so well provided with good things 
by their grandmother that they had to make only 
a pot of coffee for their supper. They were very 
tired from the long ride of the day, and the min- 
ute supper was over each wrapped himself in his 
blanket, — for the nights were cool, — then crept 
into the tent and fell asleep. The spotted bull- 
dog stretched himself near the fire, between the 
tent and the wagon, to keep watch. 

The next morning when the boys opened their 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 151 

eyes the sun was streaming into the tent and Jerry 
was bending over the hre, cooking breakfast. 
The savory smell of broiling ham and boiling 
coffee was too much for sleepy heads, and, kick- 
ing out of their blankets, they raced each other 
down to the brook to wash their faces in the cool 
running water. When they returned they were 
ready to do justice to Jerry’s excellent cooking. 

Thus they traveled for four days and nights, 
sometimes walking by the wagon or running foot- 
races, and now and then halting for Jerry or Dave 
to take a shot at a saucy squirrel or a covey of 
partridges, to help out the next meal. Occasion- 
ally the stop was made to gather nuts, wild 
grapes, or muscadines. To change their menu, 
they would sometimes fish for a while at their 
noon hour at a particularly fine stream, often 
catching enough fresh silver trout for their din- 
ner. When fried brown and eaten with one of 
Jerry’s famous corn ''Johnny cakes” they couldn’t 
be excelled, — in the boy’s minds, at least. 

The sun was sinking in a bank of golden clouds 
when they came in sight of the famous walnut 
grove on the edge of Montevallo; and in a little 
while they reached the beautiful shoal creek, its 
waters rippling over the stones and sparkling in 


152 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

the western sunlight. Crossing the bridge lead- 
ing into the town, they drove to the Wells Hotel, 
where they were to stay. This was commonly 
called “The Hotel,” as it was the only one in 
town. 

After they had brushed up their travel-stained 
clothes a bit, Jerry took them out to^ee the sights. 
The wheat was not to be ground until morning, 
so they wandered about leisurely the rest of the 
afternoon. The long main street of the town was 
lined with country wagons, some filled with wheat, 
others with cotton or late watermelons. 

Seeing a crowd at a corner of the street, Jerry 
cautiously approached, the boys keeping close to 
him. All at once the spotted bulldog began to 
growl and the hair along his back-bone to stand 
erect. Then they caught a glimpse of the ob- 
ject of attraction. It was a big black bear, with 
a chain about its neck, the* end of which was held 
by the queerest-looking man that the boys had 
ever seen. 

His hair hung low on his shoulders and he wore 
a little peaked hat, adorned with a red feather. 
His coat was of brown velvet and his breeches 
were green. His shoes turned up in a point at 
the toes and a little bell that j ingled as he walked 





“The object of attraction” 


t 


I 

I 


I 




CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 155 

was sewed on the tip of each, and from his ears 
dangled large gold ear-rings. 

Nero had to hold the spotted bulldog’s collar 
tight to prevent his going after that bear, then 
and there. Going closer, they saw a little placard 
on the bear’s neck, on which was printed, “Punch 
and Judy Show To-night,” and also the time and 
the place and the amount of admittance. 

The bear clog-danced, marched up and down, 
then bowed and sat down ; and the boys were im- 
mensely entertained. They teased Jerry all the 
way back to the hotel to take them to the show 
that night; and he, nearly as anxious to see the 
fun as they, promised that after supper he would 
count his cash and see if he could spare the amount 
necessary for admittance; for money was very 
scarce then, and even a few pennies could not be 
wasted with impunity. 

After elaborately figuring and counting the cost 
in the room after supper Jerry decided, much to 
their joy, that they would go. Nero, who was 
to sleep on a pallet in their room, rolled over and 
kicked up his heels in delight, for of course he 
was to be taken along. Jerry ripped open the 
band inside his hat and having taken out the 
necessary amount, drew from his pocket a needle 


156 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

and thread and carefully sewed the band back, 
right in the same stitches. 

Soon the quartet started down the dimly lighted 
street and entered the grove of walnuts, where 
gleamed the white tent, lighted with torches 
fastened to posts among the trees. When they 
reached the show tent a. new obstacle confronted 
them. The gate-keeper, a sour-faced individual, 
refused to let Nero enter, saying, “The nigger 
can’t come in.” 

“Well,” said Ben, “if he doesn’t go in, your 
audience will be four less, for we will not go in 
without him.” 

Seeing that he was about to lose money, and 
having a small audience anyway, the man sul- 
lenly consented and allowed Nero to enter and sit 
on a box down in front, in a corner near the stage. 
Nero was so pleased that he showed his white 
teeth in a broad grin as he followed the boys and 
Jerry down to a seat near the right of the stage, 
and no one laughed or applauded louder than he 
did as the performance progressed. They each 
received full value for their money that night, 
and they laughed and shouted until their sides 
fairly ached at the antics of old Punch and his 
wife, Judy. The bear showed some clever tricks. 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 157 

and a funny clown performed wonderful acrobatic 
feats. 

On the way to the hotel Barney sleepily said 
that he was going to write down everything that 
he had seen since leaving home, for fear he might 
forget to tell it all to Bessie on his return. 


CHAPTER XV 


T he next morning, the wheat having been 
ground into flour and sacked, the travelers 
turned their faces homeward. They had driven 
but a few miles out from the town and were 
traveling on the old stage road, which was crossed 
and re-crossed by many rivulets, when they saw, 
farther on, a singular-looking caravan. As they 
drew nearer it proved to be two square-topped 
wagons, very fantastic in appearance. One was 
red, the other green, and in the sides of each were 
set oblong mirrors, about which were painted gro- 
tesque figures, monkeys, birds, and queer-looking 
little men and worneq. 

The rear wagon was fitted up for a kitchen and, 
suspended from the top, hung all kinds of tinware, 
which jingled merrily with every movement. It 
was drawn by two spotted, or calico, horses. The 
front wagon was filled with bedding and boxes, 
and before it pranced two black Mexican ponies. 

As the driver leaned out at their approach they 
recognized the doorkeeper of the Punch and Judy 
show, and both the boys exclaimed, “It’s the show- 
158 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 159 

men!’’ At the same time the leaders of their 
mule team made the same discovery, for they be- 
gan to plunge, snort, and prick up their ears; and 
again the spotted bulldog began to vent his in- 
dignation, for there, stalking along in front, was 
the big black bear, led by his queer-looking mas- 
ter. 

Nero caught the bulldog and put him in the 
wagon. The clown, who was driving the rear 
show wagon, halted and, jumping to the ground, 
called to the man in front. Seeing the frightened 
mules, they drove their wagons to one side of 
the road, making the bear sit down behind the 
wagons, and then the mules allowed Jerry to 
drive them by. When they had passed, the boys 
asked Jerry to drive slowly, while they sat, with 
feet hanging out the back of the wagon, and en- 
tered into animated conversation with the men 
of the show. 

When they reached a spring and stopped for 
their noon meal they invited the showmen to share 
their dinner. The bear was tied to a tree, some 
distance from the wagons, and all set to work 
to build a fire and prepare dinner. The show- 
men proved to be Mexicans who had come up 
from Mobile and were making their way back 


i6o CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


through Mississippi, thence to New Orleans. For 
an hour after dinner they all talked while the 
men smoked. The Mexicans related many 
strange stories of their travels and finally took 
the boys over to their wagons, showing them all 
their show trappings, and even taking Punch and 
Judy and the Policeman out of their boxes, al- 
lowed the boys to hold them in their hands. 

At length Jerry called, “Come on, boys; we 
must be going.” Very reluctantly they shook 
hands with their new acquaintances and bade 
them good-bye. As they climbed into their wagon 
the man with the sour face, who really proved to 
be not nearly so sour as his face indicated, walked 
over and presented Jerry, Ben, and Barney, each, 
with a piece of Mexican money as a keepsake. 
They were nice souvenirs and a curiosity to the 
boys. To Nero he gave a red skullcap on which 
was sewn many copper bangles. It had once been 
worn by the bear, but Nero didn’t mind. He was 
immensely pleased, and pulled it down tight over 
his kinky head as Ben drove off, for Jerry was 
busy sewing the Mexican money into his hatband. 

At the first forks of the road the showmen left 
them, while our travelers kept the main road. 
After this incident the first three days and nights 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS i6i 


passed uneventfully. The weather was fine, and 
the mules traveled without urging, on the home- 
ward way. 

The third day, however, on account of several 
stops, they were much later in arriving at the 
camping place they wished to reach than they had 
anticipated. It was already dark when Jerry said, 
“Here we are, boys, at last.” Crossing a stream, 
he was just turning into an abandoned road, lead- 
ing into the woods, when a gruff voice called, 
“Halt there!” At the same time eight men 
stepped into the road from behind the bushes on 
either side. Jerry recognized them at once as 
“blue coats,” and his mind began to work quickly. 

“What do you want?” he called to them. 

“You are prisoners,” answered one, stepping 
up to the wagon, while two or three others held 
the mules by the bits. 

“How many are you?” asked another. 

As Jerry did not speak, Ben answered for him, 
“One man and three boys.” 

“Drive into the forest,” was the command. 

Jerry sat silent, and the man called out: “Look 
sharp there! Can’t you hear?” 

Getting no response, the soldier climbed over 
the wheel to the driver’s seat and, snatching the 


i 62 children of the MEADOWS 


reins from Jerry, cracked the whip so loudly that 
the mules plunged forward in a gallop and the 
wagon lurched heavily from side to side. Then 
they went more slowly, and two soldiers climbed 
into the back of the wagon, while the others 
walked by the sides. 

Jerry leaned over close to Ben and whispered, 
‘Tretend that I am deaf, — and a fool, too.’’ 

Soon they reached the very spot on which the 
boys had expected to camp, and it was seen that 
the Yankees had chosen this place also, for they 
had already built a roaring camp-fire. When 
they halted, the prisoners were ordered to dis- 
mount. The soldiers began to question Jerry, but 
he would put one hand behind his ear and ask in 
an idiotic way, “Hey?” to each question. See- 
ing that they were only wasting breath, they de- 
sisted and addressed all remarks to Ben, who 
talked just as little as possible, and who had 
cautioned Barney and Nero, before leaving the 
wagon, to do likewise. 

Finding that they had been to Montevallo, the 
Yankees began to search them for money, making 
them strip while they carefully examined each 
article of clothes. Jerry winked at Ben as they 
felt all over his hat and handed it back to him. 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 163 

without discovering the money. They then ex- 
amined the wagon, but not very carefully, believ- 
ing that it contained nothing except the many 
sacks of flour. 

They made Jerry cook supper for them while 
the boys unhitched and brought water from the 
spring. The prisoners were allowed to eat with 
the soldiers, and in the course of the conversation 
it was learned that they were a foraging party 
sent out by a Yankee troop who were encamped 
many miles over on another road. 

As they had been instructed to secure provisions 
of any kind, we may be sure that they were glad 
to And this wagon-load of flour, which, one man 
said, they would carry over to their camp the next 
morning. The boys heard this with sinking 
hearts, but Ben saw Jerry looking at him with a 
twinkle in his eye, and he braced up considerably. 

After supper the boys were made to gather wood 
for the camp-fire, while Jerry cleared up the 
cooking vessels. While he was at this task he 
began to sing in a loud voice: 


“Oh, Susanna, and don’t you cry fer me, 

“I’se just from Alabama, wid de banjo on my knee, 
“An’ I’se gwine ter Louisiana, my true love fer to see!” 


164 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

One of the men had just thrown himself down 
on the ground by the fire, remarking that he had 
a headache, and he called to Jerry: “Here, you 
chuckle-headed Johnny! You can stay here, but 
that fuss can’t.” 

The talk among the Yankees went on. 

Jerry’s voice rose a little louder: 


“De buljin bust, de horse run off, 
“I raelly thought I’d die. 

“I shet my eyes ter hole my bref, 
“Susanna, don’t yer cry.” 


The man on the ground moved one arm from 
across his face sleepily and called angrily: “I told 
you to hush! Can’t you hear?” 

But Jerry seemed very intent on his work and 
did not heed. 

A man laughingly called to the one on the 
ground: “You’ll have to whisper a little louder. 
Bill. He’s stone deaf.” 

The sleepy man turned over and was soon snor- 
ing. 

Ben kept his eyes wide open. 

Jerry hung up the frying-pan and began to 
rinse the coffee-pot. As he did so his voice rose 
high and full: 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 165 

“I jumped aboard de telegraph, 

“I trabbled down de river, 

“De ’lectric fluid magnified, 

“And kilt five hundred nigger! 

“Oh, Susanna, and don’t . . 

“Stop that noise!” and Jerry dexterously 
dodged a handful of stones, thrown by the now 
thoroughly awakened soldier. 

Standing, with open mouth, looking at the 
irate soldier, the offender affected great surprise. 
Another soldier stepped close to Jerry, and, 
laughing, explained in a low voice that the angry 
soldier had a headache. 

“Ache*? — Stomach-ache*?” said Jerry, nodding 
his head in a silly fashion. 

“No! Headache shouted the soldier. 

“Yes, stomach-ache,” agreed Jerry. “Wait, 
ril bring some medicine to cure it,” and going 
quickly over to the wagon, he slipped out the 
smaller of the two jugs of whiskey from under 
the sacks and brought it to the man on the ground. 

Instantly a cheer went up from the men about 
the fire. The dipper that was hanging on the 
wagon was filled again and again and passed 
around. It was good whiskey, no use denying 
that. Jerry had bought the best. They offered 


i66 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


him a dipperful, which he pretended to drink, but 
which in reality he threw over his shoulder. 

Soon there was a jovial crowd around that 
camp-hre, drinking and singing. Jerry noticed 
that one man drank very little and kept watching 
him with furtive glances, but he pretended to be 
as drunk as any one else and soon began to nod. 
But Jerry’s mind was working rapidly. 

All the soldiers but the one mentioned were soon 
thoroughly intoxicated, and in a short while they 
were lying around the camp-fire dead asleep. Ben, 
Barney, and Nero had rolled themselves in their 
blankets near the fire, and the two latter had been 
asleep for some time; but Ben only feigned sleep, 
and kept his eye on Jerry to see what next move 
he would make. 

Jerry snored loudly, but Ben knew that he was 
not asleep. Suddenly, with a bound like a cat, 
he pounced upon the soldier who had been watch- 
ing him, and, with one knee on his chest, he held 
one of the soldier’s own pistols to his head and 
said: “Don’t speak a word, but do as I tell you. 
If you don’t I’ll shoot you plumb full of holes !” 

The soldier was so paralyzed with astonishment 
that he did not murmur, and Ben ran quickly to 
Jerry’s side to help, if he could. 





“Ben sat, with both pistols, guarding him” 


■] 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 169 

“Here, Ben,” said the latter, ‘‘reach in my 
pocket and get that piece of rope.” 

Ben did as he was told. 

“Now,” said Jerry, “search the prisoner for 
more weapons.” 

Ben was frightened and his hands trembled, 
for the man was cursing dreadfully, but he did as 
Jerry directed, then held both pistols firmly point- 
ing at the soldier, while Jerry tied his prisoner’s 
hands and feet. This accomplished, he put a 
finishing touch to his work by ramming a ban- 
danna handkerchief into the soldier’s mouth for 
a gag; then he and Ben dragged the man over to 
the wagon. After many unsuccessful attempts 
they succeeded in shoving him up among the flour 
sacks where Ben sat, with both pistols, guarding 
him, while Jerry went to awaken the two boys. 

They came dragging their blankets and looking 
very sleepy; but their eyes opened wide enough 
when they saw that they were about to escape. 
Jerry hurriedly hitched the mules and began 
slowly to creep out of the forest. 

When they reached the road, out of calling 
distaiice of the seven sleeping soldiers, he stopped, 
and, with Ben’s help, lifted the prisoner from the 
wagon and placed him by the side of the road. 


170 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

Cutting the cords that bound the man’s hands 
and removing the gag, he said: “Now, old friend, 
if you keep at it, with plenty of patience, you may 
succeed in untying your feet by to-morrow noon. 
That is a knot an Indian chief taught me to make, 
and you will find it the hardest day’s work of 
your life untying it.” Climbing into the wagon, 
he called, “Good-bye, Yankee Doodle, I hate to 
do it, but all’s fair in love and war, and, by the 
way. I’ll just take these pistols to a gentleman 
I know, in exchange for his whiskey your friends 
drank to-night.” 

With that he laid whip and the four mules 
bounded for home. All night they rode as fast 
as they could travel, stopping only once to rest 
the mules. They went without breakfast that 
morning, so eager were they to reach The 
Meadows. About ten o’clock they came in sight 
of a neighbor’s plantation and soon the broad 
fields of The Meadows spread out before them. 

The family were just sitting down to dinner 
when the travelers came driving up. They all 
came out to welcome them, and the boys ran to 
their grandmother, glad to get back to her arms 
once more. She held them so close that it seemed 
she never wanted to let them go. 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 171 

Soon Jerry came up and he and the boys began 
talking at once, telling of their wonderfully ex- 
citing trip, while Nero took to his heels around 
the house and down to the quarters to tell his ex- 
periences to his own black mammy. 


CHAPTER XVI 


^^T^WAS Christmas Eve. The day was 
X clear, but the wintry wind came down 
in gusts, scattering the dry leaves and creaking 
the branches of the big trees. 

Every one entered into the Christmas spirit 
at The Meadows, and great preparations were al- 
ways made. This year more had been made than 
at any time, for the financial depression, caused 
by the war, was depriving the southern people of 
many of the luxuries to which they had hitherto 
been accustomed. The Christmas dinner at The 
Meadows would not be much lessened, however, 
as it was furnished almost entirely from the plan- 
tation. The mammoth turkey was all ready for 
the roasting, and so were the chestnuts for the 
dressing, and the pig that was to be baked^ whole, 
and served on a platter, surrounded by yam po- 
tatoes, with a red apple in its mouth. The 
boiled custard had been made and put in the 
spring-house to cool, or probably freeze. 

Early Jerry and the boys went to the woods to 
bring in the Yule log, which the negroes had cut 
172 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 173 

the day before. This had always burned in the 
big fireplace in the front parlor of The Meadows 
at Christmas time‘. Jerry rode one horse, and 
Ben and Barney another. These were hitched to 
the log by chains and it was dragged in this man- 
ner home. 

Jake and the little negro boys took a wagon to 
the woods for Christmas greens. They gathered 
quantities of southern smilax; long vines, with 
shiny green leaves and bright red berries, and 
branches of evergreen, pine, and holly. On top 
of the load they put the big holly Christmas tree. 

When they returned to the house the cousins 
set to work, making wreaths and long garlands, 
and many of the negro girls were called in to 
help. They were in the midst of this when a 
messenger rode up to the gate. He handed a 
box to Ben, who had run down to meet him, say- 
ing that it had come, through many hands, from 
Tennessee. Ben thanked the man, and he rode 
on. Looking at the cover, Ben saw that it was 
addressed to his cousin Fannie. 

The girls met him at the door, curious to know 
who the messenger was, and of course they were 
filled with happy excitement when they learned 
that the box was for Fannie. Hastily breaking 


174 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

the wrappings and cover, they drew forth a lovely 
white silk shawl. As they did so a card fell 
from its folds and before Fannie could recover 
it they had all read the name upon it. 

Instantly there was a scream of laughter and 
Fannie’s face flamed red as Are. The card bore 
the name of the young Yankee officer who had 
led the Virginia reel with her on the night when 
the Yankees were surprised by George and his 
comrades. In the bottom of the box was a pack- 
age of fine candies and nuts, and she at once gave 
the children each a handful sample of Christmas 
goodies. 

How the other two cousins and Ben teased her 
about her Y ankee beau ! And when she went to 
the piano and began/ to sing “Ever of Thee,” 
they all greeted her with peals of merry laughter. 
She quickly changed to “Ashes of Roses” and be- 
gan to sing, “I’ve buried the past down deep in 
my heart.” 

“Why don’t you sing, ‘I’ve buried the 
hatchet’?” shouted Ben. 

With that she ran up-stairs to her room and 
locked the door. Nor would she come down till 
everybody had promised to be good, when they 
all set to work again, draping festoons of green 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 175 

over the windows, the mantels, the pictures; and 
under each chandelier hung a cluster of mistle- 
toe, with its pearly berries. Each window 
flaunted a wreath, tied with scarlet. The brasses 
were polished till they shone like new. The tree 
stood in the big front parlor, ready for its trim- 
mings. 

When Jerry and old Jake had placed the heavy 
Yule log the former was sent to the dining-room 
with the boys, to pop corn and string long ropes 
of it, which were to be used in decorating the tree. 
For some time before Christmas Aunt Nora had 
been careful to save the egg-shells, as nearly 
whole as possible. These were dried, and Mrs. 
Elmore now cut strips of colored tissue paper, 
which she pasted around the tops of them; then 
they were ready to be filled with nuts and candy. 
All the tinsel and bright-colored paper had been 
carefully saved throughout the year, and these 
were made into chains by Bessie, while Barney 
strung the bright red fruit from the haw tree. 

Jerry climbed on a high stool and the cousins 
and Mrs. Elmore handed him the decorations, 
while he hung and draped them on. When he had 
finished, the effect was beautiful. 

''Now,” said Mrs. Elmore, "we will close the 


176 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

parlor doors, and when we next see the tree the 
gifts will all be in place.” As they came into 
the hall she sat down quickly and exclaimed: 
“Dear, dear me! I have forgotten poor little 
Janet Jones’s doll. How could I be so thought- 
less 

Every servant on the place was busy with the 
evening chores, or had gone on errands. Jerry 
was milking. Ben had gone earlier in the after- 
noon to Dr. Murray’s, with gifts. 

“That poor child will be so disappointed. She 
will have no Christmas,” sighed Mrs. Elmore, 
and she looked very tired. 

“Don’t worry. Grandmother,” said Barney 
quickly, putting his arms around her. “I will 
take it. I can ride fast. — I do not mind a bit.” 

“You are getting to be such a man, dear,” said 
his grandmother, laying her cheek on his hair. 
“But it is a long way. Are you not too tired, 
son*?” 

“Not a bit. Grandmother, I have Christmas in 
my bones. I’ll go put the saddle on old Bill. 
Why, I expect I’ll be back before supper.” 

He ran off to the stables, and soon rode up to 
the side steps of the porch. His grandmother 
was waiting, with a filled basket for the little old 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 177 

deacon and his child. A warm woolen comforter 
and some home-knit socks lay on top of the basket, 
and an old doll of Bessie’s, mended and patched, 
but prettily dressed in red, lay underneath, care- 
fully wrapped in tissue. 

Mrs. Elmore thought that nine years looked 
very small on that big black horse, with dark 
coming on, and she pulled him down to her and 
kissed him good-bye before he galloped off down 
the driveway. The old horse covered the dis- 
tance in a very short time and it was just night- 
fall when he reached the little cabin of the deacon. 
Hardly waiting for the old man’s profuse thanks, 
he turned and started swiftly homeward. It was 
now growing very dark, for darkness falls 
quickly on the short winter afternoons. 

He could hardly see the road, but giving old 
Bill the reins, he felt sure that he would keep the 
road. The old horse knew that he was headed 
for home, and, not yet having had his supper, he 
was in just as great a hurry as Barney to reach 
The Meadows. 

Barney whistled lustily as he rode, trying not 
to feel afraid, but somehow he kept feeling scary 
inside, despite himself. The trees swayed and 
creaked about him, and the way home seemed 


178 CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 

very much longer than the ride over. Now and 
then he heard singular noises in the forest on 
either side of the road, but he decided that it was 
only the wintry wind, sighing and moaning in 
the trees. From out the marshes the will-o’-the- 
wisps twinkled like fireflies and it seemed that a 
hundred witches’ lights were trying to lure him 
from his course. Finally the wind became calmer 
and the road somewhat clearer to his vision. 

“The moon must be rising,” thought Barney. 
At the same moment a voice called out hoarse 
and deep : “Ah whoo ! Ah whoo ! Ah-whoo- 
ah!” Barney jumped and gripped the reins 
with all his might. The sound issued from be- 
yond the forks of the road in advance, and he 
was afraid to ride farther. He remembered, 
however, that horses always scent danger, and 
old Bill seemed undisturbed and persisted in keep- 
ing his galloping gait. But hark! Just as he 
reached the forks the deep voice called right at 
his side: “Ah whoo! Ah whoo! Ah-whoo-a-a- 
ah!” and something went flapping and whirring 
right across the road, almost in his face. Instead 
of falling from his horse in affright, Barney 
laughed loud and exclaimed: “Well! You 
sassy old bird! Of all the idiotic cowards I’m 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 179 

the one, to let a big old wise-owl scare me like 
that.” 

He felt immensely relieved and rode on, whis- 
tling merrily. The road was growing lighter now 
and he passed the last mile-post, telling him that 
he was almost home. He wondered what he 
would get in his stocking in the morning. He 
did hope he would find a knife with four blades 
and a corkscrew — not that he needed a corkscrew, 
but all the fine knives that he had seen had a cork- 
screw, and it made a knife so attractive. He 
wondered if Bessie and Ben would wait for him 
to come, before hanging their stockings. 

Looking up, he was astonished to see a queer- 
looking object standing, with outstretched arms, 
in the middle of the road just around the bend. It 
was dim and gray and shadowy, and appeared to 
have no neck at all. The head seemed to be 
fastened right down on the shoulders. Although 
he was too sensible a boy to believe in ghosts, 
Barney stopped old Bill stock still and sat on 
him in the middle of the road, staring at the 
strange apparition. He was thoroughly fright- 
ened this time. 

Finally, however, with a mighty effort he sum- 
moned all his courage, and touching Bill, he gave 


i8o CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 


him the reins, saying: “Well, if it is a ghost. I’ll 
ride clean through him and tear him to pieces. 
If it’s a man. I’ll ride right over him.” 

Shutting his eyes tight and setting his teeth, 
he rode forward at breakneck speed down the road 
and around the bend. When he was sure that he 
had passed the fatal spot he drew rein, and open- 
ing his eyes cautiously, looked back. 

“Well,” he said. “I must have ridden through 
him sure enough, for he isn’t there now.” 

Standing high in his stirrups, his eyes lighted 
upon the object of his fright, and he sat back 
in the saddle, too relieved and amused for words ; 
for there in the fence corner in the bend stood a 
scarecrow. It was dressed in an old linen duster, 
and a big straw hat, too large in the crown, rested 
on its head, the edges drooping down on its 
shoulders. Some of the negroes had, in a spirit 
of mischief, put it there during the day. 

As Barney rode home the moon came up from 
behind the mountains and shed a lovely golden 
light through the feathery pines, and he saw the 
gables of the big white house at The Meadows. 
Nero ran down to the gate to meet him and 
jumped on behind him, taking the horse to the 
stables when they reached the house. 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS i8i 


Barney’s grandmother met him at the door, 
then went herself to bring his nice hot supper 
while he warmed himself at the blazing fire. She 
sat beside him while he ate, and between bites he 
gave her an account of his trip. Ben, Bessie, and 
the cousins came in to hear. When he had 
finished, all voted him a hero, and Barney’s night 
ride went down in family history. 

Every one went to bed early that night. In 
fact, just as soon as Barney had finished his sup- 
per the children ran up-stairs and brought down 
their stockings to hang in the family sitting-room. 
Even the pretty cousins hung their stockings and 
the children laughed in high glee when Jerry 
walked in and asked Mrs. Elmore to hang up a 
huge red and white yarn sock for him. With 
many ‘"Goodnights” and excited whispers, they 
all went up to bed. 

It seemed to Ben that he had barely fallen 
asleep when he awoke to find daylight stream- 
ing in his window, and two little white robed 
figures tumbling over him, calling: “Christmas 
gift, Ben! Wake up!” Jumping out of bed 
and taking hands with them, he and the twins 
ran to their grandmother’s room and burst in up- 
on her, with, “Christmas gift! Christmas gift!” 


i 82 children of the MEADOWS 


Then on to the cousins’ door they ran, beating 
upon it and catching their “Christmas gift.” 
Just then the two little negroes, Flem and Nero, 
appeared in the upper hall, with arms filled with 
short split pine wood, to build the morning fires. 
Instantly there was a hue and cry of “Christmas 
gift,” followed by a scampering up and down the 
hall. 

“Christmas giff! Christmas giff!” shouted 
the little negroes. “Oh, yes, I cotch yer !” 

“Oh, no you didn’t, kinky head, I caught you!” 
was the answer. 

Fires were lighted in all the rooms, then every 
one dressed and hurried down to the sitting-room 
to empty their stockings. Here a regular array 
of servants met them, each bearing a sack, and 
there was such a medley of cries of “Christmas 
giff!” and laughter that one could hardly hear 
his ears. 

When the children had emptied their stockings 
of their treasures Mrs. Elmore opened the white 
folding-doors between the parlors and there stood 
the big tree, dazzling in all its beauty. The 
Yule log blazed and crackled in the roaring fire, 
which lit up the gilt frames of the pictures and 
the mahogany sofas and chairs. How the glass 


CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 183 

prisms of the chandelier sparkled in the dancing 
light! The home-made decorations on the tree 
were as pretty as any that had been bought. 
Underneath the tree lay a large pile of bundles, 
which Mrs. Elmore gave out to the servants. 
They each contained new articles of linsey and 
homespun wearing apparel, together with stout 
shoes and a parcel of cake and candy. 

As the last one left, Jerry came in, and the 
family gifts to one another were distributed. 
Most of them were home-made, for money was 
too scarce now for trifles. Many of them were 
indeed beautiful, too. Jerry had carved an en- 
tire set of doll furniture out of white pine for 
Bessie and stained it a beautiful red, and cousin 
Ala presented her with a rosy-cheeked wax doll 
which had belonged to her when she was a little 
girl. It wore a new dress of gorgeous yellow 
satin and lace and a yellow velvet hat. Cousins 
Fannie and Lucy had made a trousseau for the 
doll, — of silk, Swiss, gingham, and wool, with 
hats to match, and with lovely underwear. Jerry 
had made some wonderful tops for the boys, and 
boats of various kinds to sail on the brook and 
some fantastic kites; and each boy received a fine 
four-bladed knife, with a corkscrew, from his 


i 84 children of THE MEADOWS 

grandmother, who had sent to Nashville for them 
by some one who was passing. 

“Grandmother,” cried Bessie, “if grandfather 
and brother George were here, this would be the 
best Christmas we ever had.” 

Mrs. Elmore sighed as she thought of her dear 
ones so far away and wondered if they had re- 
ceived the Christmas boxes that she had sent to 
them through the lines. 

The breakfast bell was ringing when old Jake 
ran in, calling, “Ole Miss, come out to de front 
steps quick, and bring de chillun to see whut’s 
dar !” 

All the family and all the house servants 
rushed pell-mell after him. Even old Napoleon 
came running, with the bell in his hand, — and 
what do you think they saw? Three beautiful 
Indian ponies were tied to the banisters with long 
red halters. One was black and slick; the other 
two were a little smaller and milk white, and as 
much alike as two ponies could possibly be. A 
small saddle was strapped onto the back of each. 
These were hand-made, of leather, fringed and 
beaded with red, yellow, green, and blue beads. 
One of the white ponies bore a little side-saddle 
and to this was pinned a folded slip of yellow 




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CHILDREN OF THE MEADOWS 187 

paper, which Mrs. Elmore opened. The note was 
badly written and spelled so poorly that she could 
hardly decipher it; but at length she read aloud 
slowly : 

“Big Indian want lil white chillun have heep 
big Crismus. Him send black pony, big boy Ben. 
Send lil white ponies lil fillerpener chillun. 
Heap friend big Indian. Him go in night see 
red brother. Maybe come back. 

“Chineabe.” 


THE END 


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